The Chimera Within
by SpikeFlecker
Summary: What if a young med-student turned himself into spider-man in an effort to save the woman he loves? How far would he be willing to go? This is an updated version of my spider-man origin story. It's a reboot, so while it includes many of the characters from the classic spider-man, I've tried to make it more scientifically plausible, with a few fantastical leaps of course. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Chimera: in Greek mythology, any mythical animal with parts taken from various animals

Chimera: in Biology, an organism containing a mixture of genetically different tissues, formed by processes such as fusion of early embryos, grafting, or mutation

Chimera: a thing that is hoped or wished for but in reality is illusory or impossible to achieve

Chapter 1

It was a brisk autumn afternoon, and Tom Jones paused to let the cool breeze chill his face. The bracing air helped him sort his thoughts and made him confident that he had made the right decision. He had managed something so unlikely that it bordered on the implausible; he had convinced the scholarship board to support a complete academic direction change; from computer engineering to studying biology at the University of Pittsburgh, which houses the McGowan Institute for Regenerative Medicine.

Tom immediately threw himself into his studies, and was soon obsessively grappling with the concepts of genetics and how the body functioned. While he strived to avoid distractions that in the past he would have joyfully indulged in, the nagging disturbance in his mind was the desire to seek some sort of justice for his former neighbour, Latrell. As far as he could tell, the police had stopped searching for the killers, and Tom was not holding his breath for updates anytime soon. His distracted thoughts played on several different angles of ways to attempt an investigation, but again he was paralyzed by not knowing exactly how to proceed.

In one of his moments of reverie in the library, he became aware that he had acquired the attention of someone else there. He looked over to find himself staring into two of the most beautiful, clear blue eyes that he had ever seen. The individual that bore these eyes with delicate grace was a figure of absorbing interest. She was not tall, yet projected the quality of being able to command a room or bend others to her will. She was Celtic complexioned that was complemented by her auburn locks that could still be casually observed as they were neatly visible as a frame for her face, although the rest of her head was covered by the traditional Muslim hijab, which was probably the most fascinating addition of all. "Whatcha thinking about?" she asked nonchalantly, as if they talked all the time.

"Um, hi. Just trying to catch up on some studying. I'm Tom. And you?"

"Hi. I'm Gwen." She held out her hand for a shake. "You're in my Biomedical Engineering class."

"Oh yeah. Professor Eisenburg. He's a delight."

"You made an interesting comment in class yesterday. Do you really think cross-species genetics is a near future possibility?"

"I was just hypothesizing. I mean if it were possible to glean certain genetic traits that are already fully operational and then splice them into the DNA of a patient, then the implications could be incredible! But, like I said, I was just theorizing. Eisenburg shot me down pretty hard."

"Yeah, you went down in flames. But now I find you here, up to your eyeballs in textbooks and research, just like every other night of the week. He didn't discourage you very much." She looked at him coyly.

"How do you know I'm always here? Unless you have been here studying too?"

She pointed. "That's my corner over there. It bruises my ego that you haven't noticed me."

"Oh, uh, don't take it personally. You are very… uh. I just have a lot on my mind, is all."

"So, Tom. What drives a person like you to be here late every night, speed reading medical journals as if his life depended on it?"

"What's your interest?" Tom said, smiling.

"Although I'm a science major, I take a real interest in the dark motivations that drive people to do things. Especially if it drives them to do things that aren't conventional." She adjusted her hijab as it hung on her shoulders. "Because I know for me, I'm all about what drives me."

"Hey, do you want to grab a coffee or something?"

"Ooh. Slow down, hot-rod. You'll see me around. Don't worry. Try to get some rest tonight. You'll need it if you're going to redeem yourself after yesterday."

"Oh, I stand by what I said."

"Trust me when I tell you that I wouldn't be talking to you if you didn't," Gwen said, as she sashayed away.

On weekends, Tom would go into the city to spend time with his poet friend, Mariah Crawford. He had told her he was working for a 'research group' funded by an innovative hospital that was working on helping people with her condition. She began to feel more comfortable talking to him of her symptoms, so that he was able to compile his own file of her medical history and the ongoing development of her heart condition.

When Mariah was born, she had been diagnosed with Tetralogy of Fallot, a rare congenital heart defect that causes inadequate oxygenation of the blood. Before her first birthday, she had been treated with a total surgical repair that had produced good results, but now she had developed other long-term heart problems, including arrhythmia, and valve regurgitation. Her aortic and mitral valves were leaking, allowing reverse blood flow which led her to suffer from laboured breathing, lethargy, heart murmurs and overall discomfort in her chest.

The conclusion was that Mariah needed a mitral and aortic valve replacement, but she was running out of time and options. Tom took comfort in the fact that he at least knew what he was dealing with, and in what direction to ply his research.

Often, he would pass by his old apartment where his neighbour Latrell was shot, casually talking to possible witnesses and taking photos of the crime scene. One thing he learned, people did not want to talk. The second time he came by, the door to Latrell's apartment was open. He knocked, and a black woman in her forties was there. "Can I help you?"

"Hi, I'm Tom." He glanced inside at a framed photo she was holding. "I was a friend of your father's."

She eyed him suspiciously. "My dad didn't have many friends."

"I used to live upstairs. Your dad really helped us to make an important thanksgiving family reunion a success."

"Oh," she said smiling and softening a little. "You're the kid with the girlfriend who couldn't cook a turkey if your lives depended on it. He used to make fun of you."

"That's me. Like I said, with your dad's help we were able to cook that turkey, and everyone ate it, so it wasn't that terrible. And your father had a weird way of putting things in perspective that helped me a number of times." She just nodded and looked at the ground. "I'm very sorry for your loss. Please, may I come in? I realize that there was lot's I didn't know about your father."

Tom started helping Latrell's daughter, whose name was Louise, to pack up things in the apartment. She cautiously accepted his offer to help when he told her this wasn't something she should be doing alone. "My father was old and stubborn, and no one ever told him anything that would change his mind," she said. "He insisted on staying in this neighbourhood long after it started being run by the gang bangers. But we could never convince him to leave, not that where I was living was any better."

"Do you know what happened?"

"No. Not really. But I have some ideas. A few months back, my son Franklin, saw something he shouldn't have on his way to school. Now in our family, we don't go messing around in others people's business. He didn't say anything to anybody. Well, sometimes, that's not enough. After spending an evening with some kids who were supposedly his friends, a group of guys drove by and shot at him."

"Is he okay?"

"He's alive. One of the bullets hit him in the side, but he's recovered now. No permanent physical damage. But it's not safe for us anymore anywhere in the city. All of us, we up and left to live at my sister's place, upstate. But my dad, he refused to go."

"Well surely these gangsters wouldn't know your father."

"Our family's been around for a long time. My father knew a lot of people back in the day, so not only did he insist on staying, but it would seem he might have done something that's not like him. I mean, he knows what these people are like, so I never expected him to do anything foolish like go and have it out with these people. They're dangerous and they don't like to be messed with."

"Did you tell any of this to the police?"

"Yeah. I told them most of what I thought. They just told me it was a theory, and then tried to put pressure on my son to talk. Can you believe that? After what he's been through? First he gets shot and then his grandfather is killed. Do they honestly believe my baby's going to have anything to do with them now?"

"Yeah, the cops only seem to work on an exaction of unconditional cooperation."

"You don't get nothing for nothing in this world. Well I'm not going to lose my son. I don't want him working with the cops. You can't trust anybody. That's why I'm here by myself. Hopefully, I can get out of here alive."

"Yeah, well let me help you sort some of this stuff out so you can back to your family."

"Thank you. Normally I wouldn't, but the sooner I can get out of here, the better."

Tom's nerves were now on edge. There were scary people menacing this family. Louise stepped into the next room, and Tom decided to head into the bedroom. Giving it a quick scan, he focused on the bedside table. Opening the drawer and shuffling some things around, he found exactly what he was looking for. The small pistol felt good and comfortable in his hand. The cold steel and the solid weight made him feel a little more confident with the fact that there could be dangerous men watching this apartment and it's occupants. A sound coming from the hall signalling the approaching of Louise caused him to instinctively hide the gun in the most convenient place; his pocket.

He helped her clean up for a few more hours and then said he had to get going. Some of his questions had been answered. Now he had more questions that needed answering, but at least now he felt he had a trail to follow and an idea of where to start looking.

He was supposed to have a date that night with Mary-Jane. Her circle of friends mostly consisted of people she worked with, making him feel like an outsider when he was invited along. They always had plenty to talk about amongst themselves; and their conversations usually consisted of topics that either held no interest for him or concerned histories that he did not understand. It soon became apparent that M.J. had ongoing, off going feuds with most of her coworkers. That night he was picking her up to go to a show put on by one of her successful photographer friends. Tom was happy to go, because he enjoyed photography and art, but as usual he was nervous about what to talk about with these people.

When they arrived at the photo gallery, just as he had envisioned, M.J. got into an intense discussion with some of her coworkers about issues that did not interest him in the least. He noticed a little girl, about 9 years old and with glasses, staring at one of the photo prints. 'This kid seems harmless.' he thought. Soon he was chatting with little 'Megan' about why grownups were so frustrating. Every now and then he would cast a glance towards M.J. and her crowd. Judging by M.J.'s body language, their argument did not look like it was abating. "I'm sure lucky to be here with you," he said to Megan.

"Tell me about it," said the little girl.

The next morning he was preoccupied thinking about the many tasks he was working on. Between university, endeavouring to help a dying woman, investigating a murder, and trying to make sense of the different women in his life, he really felt like he had a full plate. Almost involuntarily, he started texting April. "Who are you texting at this hour?" M.J. asked, as she poured two cups of coffee.

"I just needed some advice for a project I'm working on."

M.J. eyed him sceptically through the steam from her mug as she lightly blew on it. "You could at least attempt to make conversation. Why don't you tell me more about what you're studying?"

"You're right I'm sorry," he said, kissing her on the forehead. "I'm getting into some pretty fascinating stuff, actually." He paused as his phone buzzed, "…and I'd love to tell you all about it, but again, I'm sorry, I really have to get going."

"You're seriously just going to go?" M.J. had that face like she wanted to fight.

"Sorry, I have to." There was no way he was going to say who he was asking advice from. Soon he found himself at his ex-girlfriend April's family's palatial mansion. Their butler Nestor showed him in. Nestor was always very helpful and friendly to Tom, especially if it seemed Tom was about to make a social blunder in the high society set that inevitably were to be found at the Rothschild Manor, and Tom liked Nestor very much in return.

Tom found April waiting for him in one of the sitting rooms. "April, thanks so much for letting me come by. I really need your advice."

"So your message said. Let's just say you have my curiosity going for you more than anything else."

"Look, I get it. I was a jerk. And I really need to have your forgiveness if I am to move on. I'm getting into some incredibly fascinating stuff at school. I know you'd find it mind-blowing, as I do. And one day I hope to be able to share these things with you, without it being, well, weird. But your support is still very important to me, in whatever endeavour I'm undertaking."

"I get that. And I guess part of me would like to see you succeed," April grudgingly admitted, "if you can restrain the imbecilic aspects of yourself for any length of time." She grinned.

"Great. Point taken. To sum up: I'm an idiot, and I still need you. Now to the subject at hand. What I'd like your advice on is not what I'm studying, but more to do with what you're studying." Tom filled her in on what he had learned from Latrell's daughter, and possibly why he was killed, hoping to glean from April's law school education. "So basically I may have an idea as to why he was murdered but we still don't know by whom. What should we do next?"

"Well, have you talked to the police about this?"

"No, but his daughter already told them all of it. They're holding off on doing anything unless her son testifies for the other case, and that will probably just get him killed."

"Tom, I know it's difficult, but you have to trust the system. Sure there are some corrupt people in law enforcement, but not all of them. In the end, the system works, and we don't know that if Latrell's daughter cooperates, it will get her killed. For all we know, the cops can protect her. Somebody has to take the first step, and in the end _we_ can't do much of anything. It's up to the detectives in the NYPD and the district attorney's office to solve this."

"But why should I trust the system? It hasn't exactly _earned_ my trust."

"Because _I_ believe in the system. You've asked for my advice and I'm asking you, if we are still friends like you say, than please do me a favour and trust the police and lawyers to do their job."

"But isn't it true that sometimes it takes other people, like for instance an investigative journalist, to examine the evidence and see justice accomplished?"

"Sure, that's true. But in the end the evidence has to be processed by the police, and then prosecuted by the district attorney. That's how the system works."

"Thanks, I understand you. Clear as crystal."

"Okay, good, I think. But just promise me you won't do anything stupid."

The following evening found Tom back in the university library, once again digging his way through their immense database. Soon, he was awakened from his single-minded efforts by a friendly, familiar voice, as if out of a dream. "You are doing well, Tom Jones, but you will have do a little better."

Tom looked up and smiled. "Gwen, how do you always sneak up on me like that?"

"So you're making an attempt to make up for your weekend of slacking off and debauchery? Studying hard on Monday will not resurrect brain cells that you killed off with various substances on Saturday."

"I wasn't partying this weekend. I just have a lot of irons in the fire, that's all. You can't learn everything in the library, you know." He turned back to his computer. "What's your interest anyway? What do you care what 'debauchery' I get up to on the weekend?"

"I was hoping that we might be able to help each other out. I mean, if you're up to it."

"You mean be like, study partners?"

"Yeah, that's right, to start. I'm sure that you've noticed, but the competition here now is getting seriously cut-throat." (Tom hadn't really noticed but he wasn't prepared to admit it.) "And now everything is about being the best and brightest to compete for the top internships."

"Okay. Where do I come in?"

"By now you must be familiar with the work of Dr. Julian Connors."

"Um, yeah," said Tom, flipping through windows on his computer screen. "He is a scientist who in the past has promoted animal-human hybrids."

"Oh he's way more than that. His research is on the cusp of revolutionizing regenerative medicine. Not only could his theories impact health care in curing various illnesses, but could have ramifications in illness prevention by strengthening and improving weakened organs."

"Right. So you have my attention. Are you saying you that you want to try and get an internship with him?"

"Yeah, there's only one thing standing in our way. George Bartholomew."

"Oh yeah. I think I know him. Glasses. Small hands. I've never thought of him as being in anyone's way, let alone mine."

"Look. I've been competing with Bartholomew for a while now and I know that he plays dirty. He's tried to get me expelled on a number of occasions. Remember last year when I was accused of plagiarism? Now I think he's made it a matter of personal pride to make sure he gets what I want, and he's hoping to destroy me in the process."

"You must be exaggerating. He can't be that evil."

"You have to wake up and see where you are. This is a shark tank and only the fastest and most vicious make anything of themselves. So what do you say? Partners?"

Tom shrugged. "Sure, why not? You've definitely piqued my curiosity. So how exactly do we win these internships?"

"First, we need to be on our game when it comes to our GPA. You first caught my eye with your work ethic. You're going to need that. Next, we have to be smart, which means understanding Dr. Connors' theories and knowing our enemy. Thus, we must acknowledge that Bartholomew is a brilliant biologist. We just have to be more brilliant. He is also calculating and devious."

"So we have to be more calculating and devious."

"In so many words, yeah, we do. But our advantage is that we know Bartholomew's plan. He's trying to get to Dr. Connors by currying favour with Norman Osborne. You see, Dr. Connors' lab is funded by Oscorp, and one of his principle goals is to find a cure for the CEO, Norman Osborne, who apparently is dying. We have to outsmart him by showing Connors that we're better for the job."

"How do we do that?"

"I have a plan. Osborne is suffering from a debilitating disease called retroviral hyperplasia. Dr. Connors has given him some interim treatments that can't maintain a permanent effect. Between his treatments and his disease, apparently Osborne has deformed into a real hobgoblin, which complements his personality because Norman Osborne is not a nice man. He made his fortune in heavy weapons manufacturing and is responsible for many environmental disasters. Now according to my research, Osborne is threatening to cut off Dr. Connors' funding because he hasn't been able to effect a cure for him, as of yet. Now this is when the story really gets intriguing.

"The only thing that matters to Dr. Connors is his research into transgenics and their implications for regenerative medicine. It's his life's work and he will do anything to protect it. It's one of the things that I admire about him. That's why it grabbed my attention when Connors was quietly voted onto the board of directors at Oscorp and then sent out this tweet. Check it out…" Gwen held up her phone for Tom to see.

"'The die is cast.' What does it mean?"

"I have a hunch that it means that Connors isn't going to risk his legacy to the whims of a dying autocrat like Osborne, and that he's quietly putting the pieces in play to take over the corporation."

"Does Bartholomew know any of this?"

"If he did, it wouldn't make much sense that he would still be using his daddy's connections in courting favour with Osborne, the soon-to-be former regime. But I think that if we give Osborne some rope to play with, his self-serving nature won't be able to resist trying to use whatever weapon he thinks he has against us. And then, in the process, hang himself; thus, levelling the playing field to give us an even chance. We just have to have done our homework so that we can sufficiently outshine Bartholomew to Dr. Connors."

"Alright, you have a deal, Miss Stacy. We'd better get to work."

Tom and Gwen would study together pretty much every day. One day, when they felt they couldn't retain anything more, they headed to a local pizza place for a break. Tom finally had to ask her some questions that had been bedevilling him. "You talk a lot about motivation. What's driving you? Is it some dark, terrible secret?"

Gwen stretched mozzarella out of her mouth. "Tell you what. You tell me first, what would have motivated someone like you to take on such a crazy assignment, and I promise I will answer whatever questions you have."

"I thought you knew everything about me," Tom stalled.

"Just what I've observed in school. I don't know what you get up to off campus."

Tom chewed thoughtfully. "Alright, are we partners or not? I need to tell you, that I have this friend. She's a really good person, a poet. She's not, like, my girlfriend, in case you were wondering, but I care about her, I really do. And she's dying from a rare heart defect. I'm thinking that her only chance is to regenerate her own healthy heart to transplant, but that's not on the table right now unless we can make some real strides in the tech, and soon. So I figure that Connors is our best shot."

"Wow, knight in a shining lab coat. Look at you! I didn't expect it to be so noble, and such a dark horse." Gwen touched his hand. "But I believe you're right. If this girl is to have a chance, it will be with Dr. Connor's research. She's lucky to have you as a friend."

"Well that remains to be seen. Okay, your turn. Why do you want to be Connors' helper monkey so badly?"

"My story is more complicated, and you could spend years studying me and not know everything, but I'll give you the basic story. I'm a military brat. My dad is in the Air Force and most of my life we were stationed in Saudi Arabia. I loved the culture there but the Regime's treatment of women is atrocious. A lot of my school friends would tell me to convert to Islam, but I was too into my American TV and Justin Timberlake and stuff like that to care about religion. But finally I decided to read the Koran to look for an explanation of why these Islamists treated women so horribly. But I couldn't find any support for the marginalization of women; instead, what I got from it is that the Koran is like our Magna Carta. According to my reading, it makes it clear that women are equal in spirituality, worth and education. But there are countries torn apart for this very issue, and I want to rise to the top of my field to give the Muslim world a heroine, to represent the values of education so that we can make the world a better place if we truly embrace God's message, especially when it comes to gender equality."

"Well, I guess we'd better hit the books. You have to change the world."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Tom and Gwen got hard to work on implementing their plan. The first phase involved hacking into Oscorp computers without their knowledge. There had been allegations of Oscorp manufacturing weapons that had been involved in genocide in Eastern Europe and Africa, but nothing had ever come of the charges. With the help of Beaker, Tom's old roommate from MIT who was a hacking genius, they were able to steal incriminating photos, military reports, and casualty statistics that proved just what kind of atrocities Oscorp had been involved in. Next, Tom joined the school newspaper, ostensibly because he loved photography. Then he made his first move. As he was walking down the hall of one of the study buildings, he made sure he 'accidentally' bumped into George Bartholomew, sending books and a file that Tom was carrying, flying into the air.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, moron!" yelled Bartholomew.

"Oh, sorry, sorry. Hey aren't you George Bartholomew? Is it true that you're going to get the internship at Oscorp?"

"Who are you? Are you that mook who has teamed up with Stacy? That was a poor career move, son."

"You know what? Could be. I am barely passing my classes. I much more enjoy investigative journalism. Are you sure that an internship at Oscorp is the best career move for you?"

"Whatever," said Bartholomew, getting up to leave.

"You didn't hear this from me, but word is that there will be a senate committee investigation into Oscorp and they'll probably lose their military contracts, putting them out of business. But anyway, I gotta run. This scoop is my ticket out of here."

"Whatever," Bartholomew said again thoughtfully. "Just watch where you're going." Tom ran off, leaving behind a file on the ground. Bartholomew was about to leave when, curiosity getting the better of him, he opened the file. Inside he found the evidence that Tom had stolen. Looking around, he put the file in his bag and ran out.

"Phase one complete," thought Tom.

Tom and Gwen's plan to gain the confidence of Dr. Connors was complex, and getting it's many moving parts into motion required a lot of concentration. But in the back of Tom's mind, he continued to think about investigating Latrell's murder. He decided that when he had a moment, he would go to Latrell's daughter's old neighbourhood and try to see if he could make some discreet inquiries. He was able to determine that one of her former neighbours was a small time drug dealer, and was always home. Surely this guy knew something. But how to get him to talk? Tom knocked on his door. "Whattya want?" someone shouted from behind the door.

"I'm looking for Marlin. I'm a friend."

The door opened a crack. "I don't know you."

"I just have some questions," said Tom wedging his foot in the door.

Marlin eyed him up and down. "You ain't no cop."

"No," said Tom, "I'm here to talk about the gospel. If you just give me two minutes, I wanted to get your opinion on a scripture from the Bible."

Marlin's face relaxed a little. "Okay."

"Do you think that this is God's will that we live with all of this suffering?"

"Man, there's always been suffering. That'll never change."

"I know, like look at this neighbourhood. Not too long ago, a kid got shot on his way home from a basketball game. He lived, but then his grandfather was shot and killed a few days later. Did you hear about that?"

"Yeah, I did," said Marlin. "Everyone heard about that. That was Prince's gang. They don't tolerate no threats to their dominance in their territory. And they're expanding. It's getting to be that there won't be no place safe for that kid."

"It's up to the God-fearing folk to protect them."

"Amen."

"Any idea where I might be able to find Prince? Or maybe his partner Cisco? I, uh, need to pray with them for their salvation."

"I'm not sure that you should, but yeah sure, I know where you can find them."

The pistol that Tom had swiped from Latrell's apartment felt heavy in his jacket pocket. What should he do now? At least he had some evidence. He put the gun in the glove compartment in his car and walked into the police precinct that was handling Latrell's case.

"I'd like to speak to a detective. I believe I have some information that would be useful." Tom was directed to a meeting room surrounded by windows. He waited ten minutes before a fat, white policeman wearing a shirt unbuttoned at the top and a tie waddled in.

"I'm detective Ferguson. I hear you have something for me on the Miller Murder?" Tom explained how he had learned that everything pointed to Prince's street gang. Ferguson said, "Okay kid, let's go over what you've told me. We got a daughter and her son who refuse to cooperate. You've got the word of a drug dealer who says he's heard that Prince's guys did this. And what else we got? Huh? You've been snooping around, so now you know where Prince hangs out, and what? We should go arrest him? We need evidence."

"Well… I've just provided you with a pretty good motive. Don't you go out and investigate to collect the evidence now?"

"You've got a theory, and don't you think it's one that we've already considered?"

"So you want me to bring you the evidence."

"Absolutely not! Listen kid, do us all a favour and let us do our job. If you want to be of assistance, the best thing you can do is just stay away from the whole thing, and if you are close to the family and supporting them, great. You can also encourage them to cooperate with us more and then we can get the whole case settled."

Tom left the police station frustrated. He decided to go by the neighbourhood where he knew Prince's men hung out and did their business. Maybe he could get a photo of them doing something that he could then forward to the DA, because somehow the local police didn't instil him with confidence.

Tom parked his car a few blocks away, and then went on foot and climbed a fire escape up the side of a building where he thought he might have a good vantage point to watch the comings and goings of the gangsters. Sure enough, after not too long, his patience was rewarded and he was snapping pictures of different gang members. Unfortunately in this kind of exposed environment, they were just talking to one another and he couldn't see them doing anything incriminating. Tom had been confident they he was safely enshrouded in the cover of darkness, until through his camera lens he distinctly saw Cisco point in his direction, and then say something to his cohort. "Aw, snap!" said Tom aloud.

He quickly packed up his camera and started shimmying down the fire escape as fast as he possibly could. The gangsters, for their part, had broken into a run to investigate who was spying on them. Tom hit the ground running and took off in the opposite direction with the thugs in hot pursuit. Tom suddenly broke off from the line he had been running and darted down an alley to try to get to a different street, but one of them saw him running and he wasn't able to lose them. He managed to get to another main street and ran flat out, trying to put as much distance as he could between them. When he had run a few blocks, a truck passed by, obscuring him for a moment and he took advantage to go down another alley. This one unfortunately did not connect to anything but was just a dead end. Tom hid behind a dumpster until his pursuers ran on past. They stayed close by, and he could hear them yelling at each other, as they searched up and down the street. 'This is not good,' he thought. His mind raced as he considered his options. Panicking, he quickly texted April that this was an emergency and he needed her to come pick him up, hoping that she was visiting her parents. She texted back, 'Someone better be dying.' Tom grinned, and responded, 'Matter of life and death, I swear.' "OK be there in 30.'

'I sure hope I last that long,' he thought. Time passed excruciatingly slowly. After twenty minutes, a flashlight shined down Tom's alleyway.

A voice boomed, "Come on out now. We just want to talk. But if you wait until we find you, and we _will_ find you, there are no promises. You don't want to die do you? Then come out here." Tom held back his breath trying not to make a sound.

'I sure hope my ride is close,' he thought, and decided it was time to make his move. When the flashlight moved on, Tom snuck out, slowly and carefully, and proceeded in the opposite direction of the light. Hiding beneath a car, he texted April an intersection that was two blocks away and started slinking away slowly in the shadows. When he got to the location, she was nowhere to be seen. He tapped his phone against his leg impatiently, constantly looking around. Finally, he recognized her car approaching down the main street. Breaking into a run, he left the safety of his hiding place as fast as he had ever run in his life. Just as she slowed to a halt, he saw other figures leaving the shadows and running towards them. Tom jumped in the front seat, "Go! Go! Go!" he yelled.

As they drove away, Tom could barely breathe for ten minutes. Finally April said, "So you going to tell me what this is about, or do I have to beat it out of you like I usually do?"

"I might have made a mistake, going there tonight."

"Yeah, no kidding. What the hell were you doing there anyway?" April was starting to work herself up.

"Okay look, before you start yelling at me, let me just say that I was trying to follow your advice. I have reliable information that it was Prince's guys that shot Latrell. I went to the police like you told me to, but they weren't willing to do anything, unless I had some hard evidence. So that's what I was trying to get," he said, holding up his camera.

"Yeah right. The police told you to gather evidence?"

"No, but they also told me they weren't looking for evidence either. So what else was I supposed to do? Somebody has to bring these guys to justice." Tom looked out the window. Now he was feeling angry and frustrated with himself. He also felt stupid for making such a foolish mistake, and the fact that April had had to save him wasn't helping his bruised ego. "Maybe if the cops don't want these pictures I took, I should hand them off to a rival gang and see if they will take care of Prince and Cisco," he said bitterly. Gwen was rubbing off on him.

"You don't mean that. I thought you wanted justice for Latrell."

"Well it would be more justice than what he's getting from the cops."

"Tom, having Prince killed in a gang war is not justice. Now you're just talking about revenge."

"Well sometimes they are the same thing."

"They're never the same thing! Justice is about balance. What you're talking about is just about making yourself feel better. Okay, let's play with your scenario. What was your plan for when Prince inevitably came after you to take revenge in turn?"

Tom set his jaw, and then slowly pulled the gun out of his pocket. "I guess then he'd finally get what he deserves."

April's eyes flashed on the gleaming barrel of the pistol. Then in a split-second she looked back up at Tom and slapped him. She tried to slap him again, but the second one was weak because she was also driving. "My father would be ashamed of you, if he knew." That comment stung him deep. "Can't you see? If you want to fight the injustice in this world, you can't stoop to their level. Let me tell you, I've already learned that guys like Prince are small, small fish in a sea of sharks that keep this world such a dangerous place. There are much bigger players that keep this city flooded with drugs and corruption and produce about ten guys like Prince a day. We are basically at war, and when you stoop to their level, it's a lost battle for the good and right." April looked like every muscle in her body was tense. Then she added quietly, "And you'll just end up getting yourself killed."

Tom sat silently for a while, his heart striking him again and again. "Thanks so much for coming to get me. I don't deserve a friend like you."

"Well, maybe you've helped me a few times," she said, pursing her lips. "But one of these days we are going to be even, you hear me? Come on, you can stay at my parent's place tonight." Tom smiled.

The next day, Tom went to visit Mariah. She needed to go for a treatment that required her to stay overnight in the hospital. Tom picked her up and accompanied her into her room. "So the doctor says I am not allowed to stay with you tonight," he said.

"That's okay, I'll be alright. Thanks for coming in with me."

"I brought you a book of poems. W.H. Auden," he said. "And because I was so appalled to hear that someone like you, who's lived at the Chelsea had never listened to any Woodie Guthrie," Mariah started laughing, "I brought you an iPod with the Mermaid Avenue albums. It's Woodie Guthrie's lyrics. I think you'll really like it." He looked at her with a hint of sadness. "And don't worry about Bambino." he said, referring to her dog. "I'll walk him twice a day and feed him, is it three times a day?"

"Just feed him twice a day as well. Thanks so much. You really didn't have to do all this."

"Just try and focus on the music and remember we're working on a solution for you. Okay, sorry, I guess I have to go. Take care." He bent down and kissed her on the forehead. "I'll be back first thing tomorrow." She waved good-bye.

Tom went back to Mariah's house and took out Bambino for his walk. Then he went back to her house, and did little repairs and maintenance around. Washed up everything, cut the grass, trimmed the hedges, and repaired some wood siding that was falling down. As he was looking around, he went to her back shed. There was something big under a thick canvas cover. Curious, he pulled back the canvas to reveal a dusty but beautiful cedar canoe lying upside down across two saw horses. Tom ran his hand down the solid, cedar strip construction, remarking on the beautiful craftsmanship. "What I wouldn't give to take you out on the Allegheny," he thought.

That night, he had agreed to take M.J. out with her friends, but he was really not in the mood for banal conversation. Her friends talked a lot about design, which moderately held his interest, but mostly talked about celebrity gossip and reality TV. All that Tom had on his plate was starting to wear on him, so that he didn't do a very convincing job of feigning interest in M.J.'s prattle. Then on their way home, she finally said, "Do you think I'm stupid?"

Tom was caught off guard. He frowned. "No. No, of course I don't. Why would you say that?"

"Because you either argued with or dismissed everything I said tonight. And you were downright mean to Greg. Just because he's not going to medical school doesn't mean you have the right to treat him like he's an idiot." Tom struggled to recall what he had said that was so mean, or even exactly which one was 'Greg.' "And another thing, just because you believe that what you're doing is so much more important than the rest of us, you don't have to be such a jerk. Yes! I know! I'm not a doctor! I'm not saving people's lives! I'm not hoping to change the world like your lawyer ex-girlfriend! (And I am sick of hearing about her by the way.) I'm just an interior designer, and my biggest dream is to work for a cool furniture magazine. But that doesn't make me a moron and that doesn't make me a bad person!" M.J. looked like she was about to cry, but her blinding rage was restraining all the tears.

Tom was at a loss as to what to say. Basically he didn't want to deal with this right now, and all he really wanted to do was to go to bed. Finally he said, "Look, I'm really sorry. I was distracted tonight, but that didn't give me the right to treat you like that. Or your friends. I don't think… I mean, I think you are really smart."

"Oh yeah right!"

"No… it's true. I do think you are smart. You are smart in ways that I am totally dumb. I don't know anything about design. And I really respect you as an artist. You have an incredible eye, both in taste and for photography. I wish I could take photos like you. And you have an aesthetic grace that will allow you to do whatever you put your mind to. I have no doubt about that. So please forgive me for the way I acted tonight." Tom touched her hand, as he continued driving. M.J. said nothing. She looked like she wanted to keep fighting.

When they arrived at her apartment, Tom basically went straight into the shower. As he let the water flow over him, he rubbed his face with his palms. Then he heard the shower door open behind him. He turned around as M.J. was sliding the door behind her. She took his hand, "I accept your apology," she whispered. "You're not an easy man, but maybe I'm a bit difficult too. Will you make up with me?" They made up raucously that night until the neighbours pounded on the wall.

The next morning, Tom poured himself some coffee and said, "Sorry, babe, I won't be around today. I have to go visit Mariah in the hospital and hopefully take her home, but I don't know how long I'll be."

M.J. frowned. "That's okay, but do you mind if I ask you something? What really is the deal with you and her? Are you seriously telling me that she's just a patient to you? Is it normal for a doctor to drive their patient to their appointments, walk their dog and clean their house? I'm not a jealous person, but should I be jealous of you and her?"

"Well, the thing is; I'm not a doctor. I'm a student. She is an interesting case, and I have a vested interest in her well being and hopefully eventual recuperation. That's all."

"So you're saying your interest in her is strictly academic?"

"Well she is a human being. So I care about her, but it's not like that. Realistically I think she's too sick to have any kind of physical relationship."

M.J. smiled on hearing that. "Well in that case, I hope everything goes well today." She sat on his lap and kissed him. "Just promise not to forget about me, okay?"

He went to the hospital and picked up Mariah to take her home. When he got her to her house, he helped her walk inside where he set her up on her sofa, tucking her in with a blanket and handing her a steaming cup of herbal tea. "Okay, I've got books here for you, writing materials, TV remote. Here's Bambino. He's the happiest one to see you home. Anything else I can get for you?"

"It's perfect, thank you," she said faintly. "How can I make it up to you?"

"Well, there's one thing you could do. You could write me a poem." Tom looked at her smiling.

Mariah grinned over her steaming mug. "That could be arranged. I'll make sure that it's my finest work."

Tom chuckled. "Don't save your finest work for me. You'll be able to write very inspiring poems once you've gotten through this."

Mariah groaned a little, deep within herself. "Tom, there's something I wanted to talk to you about. This morning, before you came, the doctor met with me, and he was brutally honest, which is really unusual for him. He told me that I have two, maybe three months tops." She tried to force a smile. "So I need to tell you, now, that I really appreciate all that you've done. I can't express…" she paused, her voice cracking. She swallowed and continued, "It's hard for me to say how lucky I am to have your support." A tear rolled down her cheek, and she grabbed Tom's hand.

Tom was beside himself. He wasn't able to say anything, at first. He just gripped her hand as tight as he could, like he never wanted to let it go. Finally, with his eyes overflowing with tears, he croaked, "Don't mention it." Then he took a deep breath. He wanted a distraction. "I happened upon your cedar strip canoe in the shed. That thing is awesome. Do you still use it?"

Mariah's cracking voice laughed a little. "I use to really love the adventure and experience of canoe camping. It's addicting to be able experience the inspiration of nature in the lakes connected by portage trails where no motors are allowed. But since I've gotten sick I haven't been able to use it in a long time. And if you keep a canoe out of the water for years it develops gaps between the seams. I just haven't had the chance to soak it in water and then refinish the wood."

"I'll look into it." Tom and Mariah sat for a while, trying to talk of lighter things, such as canoeing and poetry writing. Finally Tom rose to leave. As he kissed her on the forehead, he said, "I love you." The words just seemed to tumble out of his lips. Mariah's jaw dropped in shock. Then Tom said, "Boy, that was unexpected. That's not something I usually say to people. Um…" He paused and looked at her, smiling. "I hope the shock of hearing that unexpectedly isn't too much for you, in your fragile condition. But I don't regret saying it." He continued looking into her eyes.

Mariah smiled back at him. "It was unexpected, but I think I can live with it." They continued holding hands until Tom finally had to leave.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Tom was walking down the hallway of the University of Pittsburgh when Gwen came running up from behind him. Slapping him on the back and grabbing his shoulder, she said, "I've been looking all over for you. We're in." She grinned.

Tom stopped walking and looked at her, full in the face. "We are? That's incredible! But how?" he said, hugging her and lifting her off the ground.

"Bartholomew fell for your little ploy. He leaked your photos and story to the press, and the board voted to kick Norman Osborne out of his own company. Connors had been gaining support on the board and became one of the directors last year, when he was able to leverage the FDA approval of a drug that his research had produced to slow down the effects of Alzheimer's. He already had all of his parts in motion to become CEO of the company when Bartholomew pulled his little publicity stunt. Now because Bartholomew panicked thinking that he would be swept away as part of the dying regime, he desperately went to Connors, boasting that he was the one that leaked the story."

"What did Connors say?"

"He yelled at Bartholomew in front of a whole group of interns. Bartholomew had no clue that Connors already had everything in place to get the CEO chair, so Connors blamed him for a reckless gesture that weakened the whole company."

"And where do we come in?"

"Well, I was also in the running for the internship, but I've made sure that you and I have a concrete deal."

"How did you do that?"

"I snuck in past Oscorp security dressed as a pizza delivery girl and then I presented our proposal in person. I assured him that we would be the most dedicated interns he had ever encountered, and then to make sure, I sweetened the deal. I told him that I have connections with the Saudi Royal Family, and that the Saudi king is very old. I hooked him up with a contract for his Alzheimer's drug that's worth millions, thus strengthening his position as the new CEO."

Tom was amazed at Gwen's resourcefulness, and the excitement of the implications of the success of their scheme was starting to wash over him. But then he paused, "So when you say that you sweetened the deal in person, you didn't sleep with him did you?"

Gwen grabbed his shoulder, "Why would you ask me that?" Tom fumbled for a response, but just turned red. "Listen, we teamed up because we're both willing to do whatever it takes to accomplish our goals, which are noble. First of all, no, I didn't sleep with Connors. Second, it's none of your business. And finally, stop thinking with your winky and focus on the plan. You did your part, I did mine and we actually got ourselves in. We can't screw up now, thinking about stupid things. We have to prove that we are what we say we are and help Connors achieve scientific immortality."

The next day, Gwen took Tom to Oscorp to fill out his registration for the internship program and to introduce him to Dr. Connors. When they met him near his lab, he came over to greet them. "Good Morning, Miss Stacy. How delightful to see you again. And this must be the young man you were telling me about. Charmed, I'm sure."

Dr. Julian Connors was a tall, lean man with light coloured hair, bright, intelligent eyes behind black rimmed, trendy spectacles, and spoke with a smooth, almost seductive British accent. But Tom was made aware of what was probably his most striking feature when he went to shake his hand. Connors was missing his right arm, apparently cut off above the elbow. "Ah yes, a Mister Tom Jones is it? Well I look forward to us getting to know each better. And no doubt you have remarked upon my little disability, eh? A result of my service as a military doctor, I'm afraid. If we all do our jobs well here at Oscorp, then one day, not only myself, but millions of people who are missing limbs, require replacement organs or are otherwise suffering infirmities could be blessed with a fully productive life once again." Tom could feel his face beaming from a glow that began in his chest and spilled out from his shining eyes and broad smile.

"Yes, sir. That is my dream too."

"That is exactly the kind of passion that I like to hear, dear boy. Sometimes what seems to the world to cripple us, actually serves to inspire us to help that same world with wonderful innovations. At least that's what we aspire to achieve here at Oscorp, and we are attaining it." Tom was completely captivated by his presence. He talked with such confidence and moral authority, how could you help but be galvanized to strive for the common goal? Tom looked at Gwen, who was equally mesmerized. When he finally caught her eye, he gave her a look that said, "Now I get what you've been saying."

And she mouthed the words, "I know."

Connors proceeded to turn around and lead them through the lab with nervous energy quivering through his body. "Now come along. We have much work to do, so let's not waste anymore time but just get you two sorted out so you can get started." He paused briefly as he opened a door to look them both in the face. "The future awaits."

George Bartholomew was not going to go down without a fight. He had earned that internship! He had the best GPA in his class, and his father was a wealthy and influential executive for a petroleum firm. He also enjoyed scheming to take down his enemies; a Machiavellian trait that his father had told him on more than one occasion was essential to get ahead in this world. Part of Bartholomew told him that it would be better to lie and wait for the perfect circumstance to come along to destroy Stacy and Jones, and then take back what was his. But his pride would not allow him to drop the issue, even momentarily, so he was compelled to act more quickly. The more he thought about it, the more his malevolent mind started working out a strategy. And the more his strategy started to form before his eyes, the more convinced he was that he needed to strike now, while the iron was hot, as the saying goes. The points in his favour were these: Connors was still very new in his position as CEO and therefore more vulnerable. As to the fact that Connors was now his implacable enemy as well, there was no doubt in his mind. He had to remove Connors, and then removing the other two from their unmerited position would be relatively easy. He would simply remind the school of his grades, as well as his father's influential position as a patron, and the internship would be his. For Bartholomew, being a part of Oscorp, maybe even running it one day, was the goal. And to capitalize from his GPA and father's powerful name, it would be best to act sooner rather than later, while both were fresh in the dean's mind.

So using his father's name, Bartholomew launched an attack on Connors as a CEO, threatening to sell shares and cause a stock market disaster if Connors was not removed.

Connors, for his part, was not caught off guard by this attack. He had been expecting that someone from the board of directors would raise the issue of his lack of experience. He presented among other marketable products that the medical division of Oscorp had been preparing, the deal with the Saudi's that opened up the sale of their products to the Middle East. "There are a lot of rich Sheiks," he said, "And they are willing to pay us to prolong their lives. Ladies and Gentlemen, we have been appointed as the King's physicians." His speech only served to strengthen his status among the shareholders. But what Bartholomew's attack did accomplish was to allow Connors to zero in on an annoyance that threatened on becoming an enemy that must be vanquished.

The next day, Bartholomew was summoned to the dean's office. "Mr. Bartholomew, we are sorry to have to talk to you about this, but we have been receiving disturbing reports about you from some of your professors and fellow students. To investigate we are afraid we must request you to attend a session with the school psychologist."

"What? My professors are complaining about me? This is ridiculous! I have the best GPA in the school!"

"Yes we are aware of your impressive academic record, Mr. Bartholomew, but we are afraid we must insist. At this University, we pride ourselves, not only on producing brilliant minds, but encouraging upright character as well. And producing individuals of the highest calibre and strong moral fibre is an indispensable aspect of our charter as an institution. Please acknowledge that you understand that failure to appear for your appointment with Dr. Streudian will be grounds for dismissal from this school. Now I bid you a good day."

Eventually the school psychologist diagnosed him with extreme mental instability and paranoia, a danger to himself and others, and George Bartholomew was subsequently expelled from the University of Pittsburgh, and thus out of consideration for the Oscorp internship program.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Tom and Gwen, now working and studying at Oscorp Laboratories, were incredibly busy. It was as if their already intensive education into regenerative medicine had suddenly been shoved into overdrive. But for both of them, they loved every minute.

Tom immersed himself in his research. He secretly kept a photo of Mariah on his laptop, to keep himself orientated. The company, being in a state of upheaval, meant that many were playing politics from the higher-ups down to those who were basically in training like those in the intern bullpen, but Tom tried to ignore these intrigues as much as he could. When something actually significant was happening, Gwen would keep him informed. "Dr. Connors has formed the new board of directors," she said one day. "Most of them share his vision, but I have the feeling that a few of them aren't friendlies." The board had also elected a new President of the company. Guided by Connors' coaching, they brought in Mark Iraklis, former General Counsel and Vice President for Stark Industries, to run a lot of the business operations and basically be Connors' right hand man. Iraklis and Connors had served together in the military in Afghanistan, and had continued being friends. Connors appeared to be trying to put together a board that was as loyal to him as possible, especially since there remained shareholders that reminisced fondly for the days of Norman Osborne, founder of the company.

Two of his fellow interns came over to where Tom was working. "Jones, you coming to Connors' product launch? I hear he's practically turning it into a rock concert." said Kevin.

"He's got all the pharmaceutical companies coming, not to mention all of the shareholders. But we'll be going for the free food." said Ray, as he gave Kevin a high five.

"I think I'm going to pass," said Tom, trying to concentrate on his calculations.

"Jones, do I detect a hint of superiority in your voice? You think by not having a life you can win yourself extra credit? You're new here; so let me give you a piece of advice. This is no different then when Osborne was in charge. When these guys throw these parties like this, if you don't show up then they think you're not a team player. Then they think you're against the company. And then you're out on your tush with nothing."

Tom finally looked up at them; "Thanks I'll keep it in mind."

One of the scientists that Tom did take a liking to was named Toby Auchmann. He was a department head, and was on his way to becoming a well-respected doctor and leader in the company in his own right. Connors had taken a special interest in him, and he had accompanied him to several seminars as Connors assistant. Tom respected Toby as a man of good judgement. Tom saw Toby standing with another department head, named Guy Kasady, and walked over to them. "Are you guys not going to the product launch either?"

"I have a lot of work that I need to finish up," said Toby.

Guy spoke up, "I'm surprised to hear you say that, Toby. Connors would forgive you for not getting your work done, especially if you were behind after going to worship at the altar of his ego in these parties he throws for himself."

"Yeah but you guys must respect what his theories have discovered. I personally am really excited over the possibilities of the research I'm working on." Tom said.

"Be careful where that enthusiasm takes you, Tom. Einstein's most brilliant discovery was used to murder millions of people. Some of the discoveries we are pursuing could be very destructive if it fell into the wrong hands," Guy said, as Toby looked on with a grave expression on his face.

"Okay, well, I have some stuff to finish up with." Tom said slowly edging away. 'I must have been interrupting some kind of intense discussion,' thought Tom. As he walked away, he saw out of the corner of his eye Guy wave Dr. Peter Mörbius to come over, a respected biochemist who had been awarded a Nobel prize for his role in the discovery of aquaporins, and the three of them continued talking heatedly in hushed tones.

Tom ended up going with Gwen to the product launch anyway. He had run into some problems in the calculations for the computer model he was creating, and he had decided to ask Dr. Connors directly. After the program, Connors was hobnobbing with many fans thronging around him, always with Mark Iraklis in his shadow. Iraklis seemed to be in his element as well, shaking hands, posing for pictures, and answering questions pertaining to the medication that they had launched to great fanfare. When Tom finally was able to get close to them, he was starting to second-guess whether asking him at the product party was such a good idea. But before he could make an escape, Connors saw him and called him over.

"Mr. Jones, how good of you to come and support our modest celebrations of the future of Oscorp." said Connors, shaking Tom warmly by the hand. "At first I thought that perhaps you had been taken in by Dr. Kasady," referring to Guy. "He works intolerably hard I'm afraid, and that can cause a man to overthink his lot in life. I've seen it many times in students. They start off young and ambitious, but then they turn into dangerous men, both to themselves and to others."

"But this fine Mr. Jones is not one of those, Julian," interjected Iraklis. "And I wouldn't be afraid of Dr. Guy Kasady. He's harmless. Just a dedicated scientist, like the rest of us."

"Well I'm afraid I myself came late to your event because I was struggling with a problem, relating to a project I'm working on," said Tom. "I just can't get the equations to work. It's like there's one missing."

Connors and Iraklis shared a knowing glance. "Could it be your wrestling with the problem of the 'decay rate algorithm?'" Connors asked. "That's remained one of our biggest obstacles in applying transgenesis en vivo, or to live patients. We are able to apply and blend limited transgene information, but inevitably the host DNA defeats and destroys the alien DNA, causing harm to the patient." An image of a photo of Norman Osborne, with his unnaturally bulbous features flashed through Tom's mind. "We've tried it on test subjects before. Best-case scenario, the superior genetic qualities wear off in time, and the subject is left no worse for wear than before. But there are catastrophic possibilities, so we haven't tested extensively and are still grappling with this equation to unlock the full regenerative possibilities. Well keep working, young man, and we'll all pray for a breakthrough."

Tom returned to the lab. He was seriously out of his depth. He considered emailing Beaker, his old college roommate who was a whiz with algorithms, but that would only land him in hot water because of the intellectual security at Oscorp, not to mention their military contracts that they sometimes worked on. One by one the other interns retired for the night, and then Tom was left alone. "I need something to recharge my brain." he said to the empty bullpen. Then an amusing thought occurred to him. He opened up his web browser and googled 'animal brains.' Maybe he could shoot himself up with animal DNA to refresh his mind. Or at least it was a funny diversion. Then his attention was captivated by a study scientists had done into jumping spiders' brains. It was fascinating. They relied on quick and efficient interaction between their tiny brains, eyes, and muscles instead of making spider webs.

'I could analyze spider DNA without any kind of permit." thought Tom. He looked around the building, crawling around the atrium in the centre of the building where there were plenty of plants, and soon bingo! he caught some jumping spiders. Taking them back to the lab, he extracted their cells and analyzed their DNA. Tom worked with the DNA, applying the parts of the equation that he had, and finally extracting the elements of the DNA that he wanted relating to brain function. He also considered including the genes that would greatly increase his body's production of the proteins actin and myosin, which would allow his body to cope with the added stimuli of greatly enhanced cognitive abilities. Increased production of these motor proteins would probably have the side effect of increased strength, which would not be so bad, Tom mused to himself. He entered the equations and placed them into the DNA particle accelerators that they had in the lab, finally creating a serum.

Then he had to prepare an appropriate form of vector, or means of delivering the DNA into his cells. Transduction seemed like the logical choice, and he had the means at his disposal to put the double-stranded spider DNA into an Adenovirus, which would make its way to his own cells and code in the chimeric attributes.

"To science and discovery," Tom declared to the cosmos, as he injected himself with his spider vector.

At first, he didn't feel any different. Then after an hour he started to suffer consequences. He broke into violent sweats. He felt like he was going to throw up all over himself, and started running to the bathroom. 'I think I've made a terrible mistake.' was the last thing he remembers thinking before he passed out.

Tom had many violent dreams; in many of which he was running from assailants that he could never quite outrun. Also, in many of his dreams he felt like he was drowning and then fighting some nefarious but unseen foe. He lay twitching on the floor until suddenly his eyes popped open and he sat up violently.

"Whoa, buddy, what happened to you?" As the world started to slowly come into focus, he recognized the form and voice of Kevin.

"Is he hungover? Smell him for booze, he looks hungover." said Ray. Tom gradually realized that the bullpen was full of the interns. It was morning, and they had all arrived to find him passed out on the floor in a pile of his own vomit.

Kevin took a whiff. "No booze, but it's not pretty. He is very sick. Dude you got to cut back on the Red Bull and twizzlers and actually get some rest," Kevin said, helping him off the floor. Tom slowly walked over to a chair. "Man what were you working on last night? Whatever it was I think it broke your brain." Finally, Tom started to recollect what he had been up to the night before, and started laughing.

"Yeah thanks, I think, um, I think maybe I should take a sick day. I've just been working too hard, you know?" he looked up at Kevin.

"No I don't know actually, but you're right about one thing. You're going home."

Tom made his way back to his dorm room. He threw himself fully clothed onto his bed and settled down for some fitful slumber. Suddenly Tom shot up out of bed. He looked at the time. He had slept for twenty-five hours. "Paper." he mumbled. He looked over at his roommate Marty, who was consumed in a video game. "Paper!" he shouted.

Marty looked over with bleary eyes. "Did you say something, man?"

"I said, give me paper, dammit!" Tom trundled out of bed and starting throwing things around looking for a notebook. When he finally found one, picking it up violently, he manically started scribbling in it like someone possessed. Then, as abruptly as he had started scrawling on the paper, he halted his mad writing, and just stared at the paper, astounded. "Great Caesar's ghost! I've done it." he whispered. Then progressively louder, "I have freaking done it!"

"Do I have to ask you what you've done?" muttered Marty, without taking his eyes off of his computer screen.

Tom continued staring at his paper when there was a knock at the door. Neither Tom nor Marty reacted. Then the knocking came again, but more insistent this time. Marty said, "You going to answer that or what?" Tom gave no response. Finally, Marty got up and went to the door as the knocking came yet again, this time dripping with annoyance. "Alright, I'm coming." Marty said. The sharp rapping on the door suddenly broke Tom out of his reverie, and in a split second and without thinking, he jumped straight up in the air to the ceiling and clung there, hanging upside-down.

Marty opened the door a crack to see who it was and turning around said, "Dude, it's that hot Muslim chick. Dude? Where did you…?

Gwen interrupted Marty's slow-witted stammering. "Hey, if Tom's not here, when you do see him just tell him I came by, okay? Bye."

As Marty closed the door, puzzled, Tom came crashing down on his head from the ceiling. "Hey what the hell man? Why are you smashing around like that?"

"I'm not sure. Something is happening to me." Then Tom remembered his equations. "I have to go. Things to do and people to see." And with that he walked out as Marty stared blankly at the ceiling.

Dr. Julian Connors opened the door of his home to find Tom standing there, looking peaked. "Tom? While I admire enthusiasm in my young interns, I may need to remind you that this is my home and not…"

"I'm very sorry, sir, but I had something I thought I should show you immediately and in person."

"Oh?" Connors took on his most condescending tone. He took the notebook as it was handed to him, and held it at arm's length to read it, sniffing. But then his features suddenly stiffened. "This is…. this is the decay rate algorithm. But how? But who? How did you get this?" He stared at Tom in awe. Tom just shrugged and tapped himself in the temple with a pencil. Connors turned back to examine the equation in more detail. "My god, you've done it. After all this time. Well please come in. You were right to bring it directly to me. We need to keep this confidential until we have had the opportunity to verify our findings. But very good my boy, yes very good indeed. Come see me tomorrow and we will run some tests by producing animal chimeras. And bring your study partner, Miss Stacy. I value her insight very highly."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Tom left Dr. Connors house with his whole body coursing with nervous energy. His mind was racing with the implications of his discovery, and he was experiencing a dizzying array of emotions. But there was something more. He was feeling incredibly strong proddings arising from his subconscious mind. First, one desire he understood too well was that he was ravenously hungry. So he went and bought an extra large pizza and then ate the whole thing in his car. His second urge was a feeling that he didn't remember experiencing before; he felt a tremendously strong urge to exercise. Driving past some teenagers at a skate park, he went to a sporting goods store and bought himself a really cool long board. Joining up with the other skaters at the park, soon he was basking in all of his former joys when he used to snowboard.

But there was something different; a sensibility that was unlike any he had ever experienced - he was good. He seemed to be incredibly agile, quick and strong. Soon he was doing Indy nose-bones and totally nailing a sweet 360º shove-it-to-boneless. He kept working the half pipe long after the rest of the skaters had left. When he was alone, he started pushing himself to do moves that should have been physically impossible for a human. Tom continued working out his wiggles that he felt in all of his limbs. He pushed and he pushed until he felt better than he had in a long time. Everything was starting to become very clear and crystallizing in his mind. Suddenly he was running to his car and driving to his old neighbourhood.

It was time for round two.

He walked the dark streets, staring into the malevolent faces of those who chose to haunt the lonely, deserted alleys and shadows, to prey on the weak and degenerate. They stared back at him like trapped vermin, with a ferocious bravado, thinly masking the fear and mistrust they suffered for all of their fellow creatures. Eventually he recognized a thug he knew to be a drug dealer. Walking swiftly up to him, he grabbed him by the front of the shirt and shoved him into the brick wall behind him. "I'm looking for Cisco. You seen him?" Tom hissed.

"Hey get off me man. You crazy. Whoa, whoa, whoa." Tom lifted him up off the ground.

One of his enforcers came up from behind Tom and tried to stab him. Tom without looking around, dodged the blow and windmill kicked the enforcer across the face. All without letting go of the dealer. "Okay, okay, okay. Cisco don't work this neighbourhood no more. You'll find him if you go up ten blocks." Tom dropped him and he fell on his backside. As he walked away, the dealer yelled after him, "Man, you dead. You hear me, fool? I've seen your face."

Tom walked along swiftly, then paused as he passed a little convenience store, owned by a Mexican family. Among the other Mexican paraphernalia, Tom stopped to stare at a Nacho Libre mask on display. 'There's something to be said for anonymity,' he thought as he bought it.

As he was paying for his mask, he happened to look in the window of a nearby sporting goods store that carried jerseys and sports memorabilia for the University of Richmond.

"Well, what do you know? The 'Richmond Spiders,'" Tom said to himself, as he admired the U of R cycling team jersey and a red hoodie, both emblazoned with their blue spider logo. "Seems appropriate."

Cisco was sitting in his Escalade along with two of his soldiers, waiting for a business phone call. He didn't see anyone approach his vehicle, but the back door opened and he heard a decrescendo scream come from his goon that had been sitting behind him. Then something or someone that moved with an unnaturally rapid speed punched his driver several times in the face, knocking him out. He grimaced, as he felt the familiar pressure of a gun barrel being pressed against his head. "Go ahead, scream. There's no one here to take mercy on you." a voice said vehemently from behind.

Cisco swallowed. "Hey, what do you want?"

"I want Prince. Where can I find him?"

"He is where he always is. At the Eight Ball Bar, where our hangout's at. But you'll never get in there. We got tight security, you know?."

"We'll soon see who's got a plan and who's dead. One more thing, and tell me the truth, or tomorrow your boy here will be sponging your brains off the dashboard. Who shot the Miller kid, and his grandfather? Was it you?"

Sweat beaded down Cisco's face. "Man, I don't know who did that, I swear!"

"Ahh!" Tom shouted in frustration, and slammed the short pipe he was holding like a gun across the back of Cisco's head.

Prince and some of his guys were sitting around a table in their headquarters, counting unmarked bills and surrounded by guns. They were interrupted by some banging from the second floor, followed by the sounds of furniture being knocked over. Their eyes followed the sound and they all paused what they were doing and looked up. "Someone's upstairs. You two, check it out." Prince pointed at two guys and they pulled out their weapons and went to investigate. As they went up to the second floor, they switched on the lights and looked around. Entering the room, they could see that one of the windows had been smashed open. They looked at each other nervously, and cautiously continued looking around the abandoned furniture. They were suddenly greeted by darkness as the light bulbs shorted and exploded. The one guy, fumbled for his cell phone, and touching a button, held the faint light up to see in front of him. His eyes strained to make sense of the shapes before him through the diffused light. As he held the light up to eye level, his heart leaped into his throat as a menacing figure wearing a Mexican wrestling mask materialized out of the darkness. He had time to scream in terror before he was silenced.

Below, Prince asked, "What the hell is going on up there?"

Another goon responded, "They're probably being scared by some pigeons." They weren't left to speculate for long. A human blur came rolling down the stairs on a long board and moved towards them at startling speed. Prince and his men opened fire, exploding windows, mirrors and liquor bottles around the room in their vain attempt to defend themselves. With lightning speed, this terrifying figure, costumed in the ironically comical mask of a _luchador_ , went around the room incapacitating each of Prince's soldiers, one by one with blows from the skateboard. Finally, Tom tackled Prince, pinning him to the ground, with an iron grip around his throat. "Why did you kill Latrell Miller?" he demanded. Prince struggled to make a sound; a response, a cry for help, to beg for mercy, but the tenaciously powerful hold on his trachea would not permit even a squeak to escape his lips.

Holding Prince in his death-like grip, Tom could feel with each finger the vertebrae in his victim's neck starting to crack, as his pitiful life began to ebb away. When he stared into Prince's eyes, he saw the reflection of his own malignity, like a surrendering to the inevitable. Then, a memory started to stir in Tom's brute mind. "This wasn't justice." April's voice said in his head. "Latrell wanted justice."

"Justice," Tom said aloud, his grip loosening as he grappled to recall the concept of justice, like someone struggling to remember a dream too long after they've woken up. The faint outlines were there, but his reasoning was fighting with the question: 'What is justice?' Finally the pieces started to slowly fit together, as Prince began to inch away from his grasp. Acting reflexively, Tom punched the gangster across the jaw, rendering him unconscious.

Pulling out his camera, Tom started snapping pictures of their clubhouse. Guns, drugs, laundered money, anything that could result in criminal charges. Then he set the camera up on auto timer and took photos of himself dressed as a Mexican Wrestler and UR Spiders fan in various poses pretending to break up the scene. Calling 911 from one of the gangster's phones, he called in a fire, then proceeded to set it and extinguish it rather quickly. He then clambered up to the top of the buildings across the street to document the arrests.

The next day, Tom was in the lab with Dr. Connors, as they ran computer simulations creating a lizard hybrid with a rat that was missing a limb. When they entered in the decay rate algorithm, after a few slight adjustments in their formula, they were able to simulate successfully a rat that regenerates its limbs. Then next step was to create the serum and actually inject a live host rat with a retrovirus to allow it to regenerate. "Now we will see if our little chimera can survive the introduction of another species' DNA." Connors looked over at Tom. "The suspense is killing me."

"This is the most exciting thing I've ever done." Tom said.

That evening Tom and Gwen were working late, going over calculations for different possibilities for DNA traits to pass on when creating their hybrids. Tom's phone buzzed. He glanced at it and ignored it. He could see it was M.J. His phone buzzed again. "Aren't you going to answer that?" asked Gwen.

Tom sighed and picked up his phone. "Hello, pumpkin. I'm sorry but you've caught me in the middle of something."

M.J. said on the other side, "I was just calling to make sure you didn't forget our plans for tomorrow night. And to hear the sound of your voice."

"Yes, I won't be able to make it, I'm afraid."

"Oh, that's too bad. What am I supposed to tell my friends as to why you can't come?"

"You'll think of something I'm sure. And I should tell you that I don't believe I'll be able to make any of our other engagements in the foreseeable future. My work has just become all consuming, and it demands my undivided attention."

"I..uh…what?"

"Look I'm sorry, pumpkin, but if we're being honest with ourselves this thing lasted longer than probably either of us anticipated. And if it makes you feel any better, I really did enjoy our time together. Anyway, I sincerely wish you all the best and a cheery adieu." said Tom hanging up.

Gwen stared at him. "Did you just break up with someone?" Tom nodded. "Man what has gotten into you lately? You're so aggressive."

"I'm just thinking more clearly, like I've had a revelation."

"Well how did she take it? Was she mad?"

"Positively livid I should think. She's very prone to rage, that one."

"Kind of a dick-move, don't you think; breaking up with her over the phone like that?"

"Look, I thought we had an understanding. I don't judge you, and you don't judge me over our personal lives," Tom said, without looking up from his microscope.

"Speaking of personal lives, I was going to invite you to my family's house for dinner. My dad really wants to meet you."

"Really? Why?"

"Because he wants to meet my brilliant science partner who's going to help his favourite daughter change the face of medicine. Dinner's at eight."

"Can't wait." Tom said, smiling.

Something had been weighing upon Tom's mind. How deep did the corruption in law enforcement go? Could he hope for justice for Latrell if he simply left the matter in the hands of the police? He had the photos, which he had anonymously emailed to the authorities, but he debated in his mind taking it a step further. Before he met Gwen to go to her parent's house, he passed by the office of the Daily Bugle, a relatively small independent news outlet in the city. He informed the receptionist that he had some photos that would interest the editor and would be willing to sell them along with the story. He was instructed to wait. As he waited, there was activity all around him as people of all ages and occupations rushed around, calling and yelling orders.

As Tom waited, growing bored, his attention eventually turned to a young woman who was also sitting in the waiting area. She was fashionably dressed, and looked very comfortable in her surroundings, projecting an image of being an important part of the operation. She had long brown hair, just past her shoulders, wore big hoop earrings and a thin leather jacket. As Tom stared unabashedly at her captivating face, he was reminded of the famous quotation by Edgar Allen Poe's character Francis Bacon: "There is no exquisite beauty, without some strangeness in it's proportions." She may not have been considered a classical beauty, with her very large eyes and a full, large mouth, but everything about her was coloured with a lovely sweetness.

"Are you a reporter?" Tom asked.

"Freelance photojournalist," she said, discreetly flipping through photos on her tablet, but turned away slightly so that he couldn't see them.

"I'd like to be a journalist one day. Today I'm just trying to see if they'll buy some photos of mine. And ideally, I'd love to write the story. But I guess we'll see."

"I wouldn't get my hopes up," she said distractedly.

"Could I show you a couple of photos and get your professional opinion?"

She looked up at him disinterestedly. "I suppose." Tom opened his iPad and showed her the photos he had taken. At first she was critical of some of the angles, and lighting, not knowing that Tom had posed the pictures and taken them with a self-timer. Slowly she started taking note of the photos' content. "How did you get these?" She looked at him with a wry smile.

"Long story. Anyway, I'd love to have some way to keep in touch with you, maybe we could exchange professional courtesies. Like if I need photo advice or, who knows maybe I could even help you with something. It never hurts to have connections, right?"

Carmen looked at him warily but amused. Finally she shrugged. "Sure, why not? Here's my email. But please use it very discreetly." Excellent, thought Tom.

The receptionist called, "Miss Carmen Bolkonsky? Mr. Jameson will see you now."

Carmen got up to leave, and on her way out, stopped and turned around. "Here's a little professional advice. If you're going to be taking crime photos like that, you might want to consider using an alias, to protect you and your loved ones." She lightly tapped the doorframe and walked out.

After Carmen and what seemed like a hundred other people were called into the Editor's office, Tom was called in. "J.J. Jameson?" he asked.

"Gimme, gimme. You got something for me or what? Come on, I don't have all day," Jameson said. He grabbed the tablet and scanned the photos. "How did you get these?"

"I was trying to put together a photo-documentary on New York street crime," Tom lied, "when I stumbled across this. Can you use it for a story? Would I be able to write it?"

"I'll tell you what, kid, and this is the only offer you're gonna get, take it or leave it. There's no way in hell you're writing the story. And we're going to buy these pictures from you for a price that you will undoubtedly find to be niggardly and unacceptable. But what you are also receiving is an open door to bring more photos like this. Do we have a deal?"

"Yes sir," Tom said, shaking his hand.

"Fine. Now get out of my office. Betty!" he yelled for his secretary and a very pretty girl with dark hair poked her head into the office. "Get me copy on the phone!"

Outside Jameson's office, Tom began talking to the secretary. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Peter. Peter Parker," Tom said, just having thought of a sobriquet. "And what's yours?"

"Oh, everyone around here calls me Betty."

"Well, Betty. I hope I'll be seeing you again very soon."

That night, Tom was enjoying a lovely meal with Gwen's parents, Kim and Colonel George Stacy. It was plain to see that Gwen's parents were extremely proud of their academically gifted daughter, and supported her in whatever pursuit she put her mind to taking on. They asked a variety of questions concerning their studies and their work at Oscorp while displaying great interest, which made up for their shortfalls in comprehension.

As they were serving the coffee, Gwen's mom mentioned the breaking news story she had just seen on TV before they had served dinner. "There's these photos of a masked vigilante who took down this criminal street gang," she said. "The pictures are incredible."

'That was quick,' thought Tom.

"What is happening to this city?" interjected Gwen's father. "Every nut bar thinks he has the right to take the law into his own hands. Well this isn't Mogadishu, and last I checked, we have a police force to handle these things."

"Maybe he's just trying to help." Tom found himself alone with six eyes staring back at him questioningly. He'd better play it cool. "I mean, it's probably just a guy who knew some things and wanted to offer assistance to the police."

"Yeah, but that's what I'm saying. If a citizen knows something that will help the community, he is duty bound to go the official authorities in charge and share that information. Taking the law into his own hands just gets innocent people killed." The colonel seemed like he was only getting warmed up.

Tom opened his mouth to say something, but he felt Gwen's hand on his leg. "Mom, can I give you a hand bringing in the dessert plates?" she asked, and gave Tom a look.

Tom understood. "But you're right. We need to respect the uniform, at all levels of society." George seemed to distracted by his own thoughts to acknowledge, and from behind him Gwen mouthed 'Very diplomatic.'

George was about to launch into another tirade. His wife interrupted, "Honey, at least wait to carry on your moralizing until after we've had our cake."

That night, the company legal counsel came to Dr. Julian Connors' office. "Irrfan Khan, how good of you to come," Connors said warmly. "Now what is this pressing matter that you just had to speak to me about."

"Well, I'll get right to it," said Khan. "Norman Osborne is suing us."

Connors waved dismissively with his hand. "Then we'll countersue if we have to. Trust me, my friend, this is of no great concern."

"No Julian, it is. He's threatening a legal battle on many fronts and has made alliances with several of our competitors who are joining in with him. He has sufficient evidence that he could at least convince a judge to put production of all of our most lucrative products on hold, as well as our research laboratories. The biggest problem, is that the military will not look kindly on putting a moratorium on the products that we make for them, and will put incredible pressure on us to cut a deal with Osborne."

"You think that he wants to be reinstated as CEO?"

"Yes, and he has inflammatory information that his lawyers can use to shut us down while making him look like an innocent victim of an evil corporation."

"That's preposterous!"

"I know, but I'm just laying out the strategy of the other side. We need to get out in front of this and quickly, or we will be shut down as they review and probe the company, division by division."

Connors tapped his fingers with latent rage after Khan had left his office. He had overcome many enemies and opponents to get to his position, but quite possibly Norman Osborne loomed foremost. And here, he was so close to curing himself of his own disability! He looked down at his tragic stump where his arm used to be, and deliberated. More than anything else, Connors desired to be respected and admired as a truly great scientist. He had dreamed since his youth that history would immortalize him and lift him to the level of scientific visionaries who had changed the world, such as Sir Isaac Newton, Galileo or Albert Einstein. As a biologist and a physician, he aspired to be revered and at the same time loved as had been Louis Pasteur and Alexander Fleming for discoveries that had changed the course of world history and thus potentially save the lives of millions.

He could not and he would not allow a greedy hobgoblin such as Norman Osborne to threaten his research. He had to act before his greatest discovery was shut down and misappropriated from him. At once, he went down to the lab to check on Freddie, the lab test rat who had been infused with lizard DNA. He was in a fitful state of slumber, but all vital signs were positive. Connors looked on Freddie with great affection. "My most recent scientific child, my most extraordinary chimera. You have saved me." And with that, Connors went over to the vials containing the lizard DNA in the retrovirus and filling a syringe, he announced to the ages, "Julian, your rendezvous with destiny has finally arrived."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Well, that was really something." Gwen said to Tom, on the drive back to Oscorp dormitories. "I actually thought you were going to get my dad to demonstrate his jujitsu to get you to back down and stop defending this vigilante. Do you really identify with this guy or something?"

"I just think he probably has a good reason for what he did. And what's wrong with taking down a few bad guys and cleaning up the city a little?"

"Okay, I can see you're still worked up. Geez, what's with you? Ever since we've completed the equation you've been on edge. Is there something going on? Something I should know?"

Tom breathed heavily and stared out the window. When they arrived at their dorms, he said, "Okay, there's something I want to tell you. But it's not that easy to say." They got out of the car and walked through the parking lot towards the residence building. "Okay, listen. I… I did something that you're going to say is really stupid." Gwen studied his face, looking confused.

"What did you do?"

"I… Okay, it was late, and I had been working too hard, and…"

"It's alright, you can tell me. We're partners."

"I injected spider DNA into me and now I have weird abilities and I'm the Nacho Libre vigilante." All of the words came tumbling out in rapid succession.

Gwen could barely say anything. "You spliced your own DNA?" she finally said. "But how? Before you had the algorithm? So are the effects permanent?"

"That's a really good question actually. So far I have experienced many effects and I don't see them degenerating but it has only been a few days and with this treatment, basically it is all very experimental and I feel like I'm talking extremely fast." Gwen put her finger on his lips, having regained her composure.

"Well that explains how you had this stroke of genius to some up with the algorithm. But I am concerned for your health. I need to closely monitor your condition to make sure you don't suffer any adverse side effects. But tell me, how does it feel?"

"To tell you the truth, it feels incredible! I've never experienced such a feeling of raw power, endless possibilities. I did try to restrict what traits I passed to myself, focusing on nervous and brain enhancement. But I suppose it was inevitable that there would be other physical effects." Tom stared into Gwen's beautiful, clear blue eyes. "I feel like I've been thinking more clearly than I have in a long time." He moved close and kissed her deeply and with rugged intensity. She kissed him back, and continued until her phone rang.

Sighing, she answered. After a brief conversation, she said, "That was Mark Iraklis. He says that Dr. Connors was found in his office in some sort of distress and has been taken to the hospital."

When Tom and Gwen arrived at the hospital, the waiting room was full of would be comforters. Iraklis was there, in the corner, with his phone glued to his ear. Toby Auchmann was also there, looking concerned, with his pretty wife Kerry. Shortly after they arrived, Connors' wife, Lindsay, invited them into his room to have a look at him. Tom talked to the doctor while Gwen examined the patient. She silently motioned to Tom to look at Connors' stump. The unmistakeable form of a hand was visible and his arm was growing longer. Afterward, Tom and Gwen conferred with each other and decided the best course of action was to return to Oscorp labs. "His eye still reacted to stimuli, so he's not comatose," said Gwen, "but he seems to be fighting for his life."

"We have to analyze the serum and the retrovirus that he injected, to see if we can isolate what DNA traits he's spliced into his own. This is all very theoretical but maybe we can create something to balance out and level off the hybrid changes," said Tom.

As they arrived at Oscorp, there was a crowd of striking workers blocking the entrance. "Oh, what the hell is this?" Tom complained. As they slowly tried to drive through to the entrance, the police in riot gear arrived. They announced warnings to the crowd and then opened fire with water cannons. "Seems a little heavy-handed," said Tom, though relieved to have the crowd dispersed.

"I guess that's the way Iraklis deals with workplace dissatisfaction. I wonder what Dr. Connors will have to say when he's back on his feet."

Tom and Gwen worked rapidly in the lab. They understood well each others habits, work routines and idiosyncrasies, and thus were able to process information, perform tests, and operate the equipment more quickly than if they had been with anyone else. Much sooner than expected, they had prepared a chimera trait restriction serum, to for the time being keep some of the animal characteristics in check. Tom speculated, "I don't think this will automatically cause permanent constraint of the violent symptoms that he's experiencing. He probably should take a shot of this serum daily for the next few months. But it hopefully will allow him to enjoy the superior DNA traits such as limb regeneration while balancing out the rest of his system so it doesn't overload and shut down. But I've had to leave a few calculations to pretty much guesswork."

They got back to the hospital and Gwen administered the serum while they both watched anxiously to see if it would take effect. Gwen didn't want to leave his side, so Tom went out and collapsed in a heap in the waiting room. The excitement and stress of the past few days were beginning to take their toll.

As exhausted as Tom was, sleep eluded him. He thoughts began to drift to Mariah, as well as feelings of guilt, for his conscience told him he'd been neglecting her. As he sat, waiting, he got out his notebook and stared at the blank pages. Sometimes inspiration to compose a few lines of poetry just struck him like a lightning bolt, electrically infusing him and then discharging through his fingers onto the white blank page. But today, as much as he wanted to sort out his thoughts and feelings through literary composition, weariness drained his faculties. But as he indulged his woolgathering, the figure of Mariah began to materialize before him. Her beautiful brown eyes, her self-effacing smile, her ebony skin, her Rubenesque figure. She had a zest for life and beauty, yet the evanescence of life tinged her with sadness and loss. While Tom's conscious mind dictated that a cure for her was not only possible, but now within his grasp, sentiments of compassion and empathy began to ripple through his soul. Tom wept.  
Now he began to write as if his fingers had a spirit of their own.

To Mariah

Do you remember?  
That time I said to you  
We are all just passengers  
on this starship we call Earth  
with all the luggage that we hold dear  
in the belly of a black-winged bird

So where is that we go?  
Once we're at journey's end  
We gather our mementos  
holding close our beloved  
as the rain pours down  
anointing my coronal head of woe.

I will be with you always  
and I beg not to release me  
Even if we must pass through the dark  
your firm grip on my hand and heart  
We will hold each other fast  
As we wait again for that nameless spark

For if we find a shining light in this life  
while the world is enshrouded in death  
and the ugly is too often our focus  
When we find something  
so beautiful in it's trueness  
Then we must not trade that for anything  
Neither death nor hate nor greed  
can conquer a self-sacrificing love.

The mortality of your soul  
makes it all the more precious to me  
for when you are moved to help the helpless  
then you have charmed the eyes of God  
the one who bequeaths life and love and truth and beauty  
while you enjoy the blessing in its whole  
There yet remains hope

And where there is hope  
there exists will and joy and wisdom

* * *

After Tom finished writing, his whole being felt energized with vigour and creativity. He needed to see Mariah and right away. He went to Dr. Connors' hospital room, where Gwen was faithfully by his side. "How is he?" asked Tom.  
"Stable. Not much has changed." She tried to wipe the tiredness from her eyes.  
"I'm going to go."  
"I'm staying," Gwen said resolutely.  
"Call me if anything changes, and try to get some rest, if you can."

It was morning, and the mist was slowly lifting as Tom arrived at Mariah's house. It was relatively early, but she answered the door fully dressed and looking like she was about to go out. She hadn't put her contacts in, and so was wearing her nerdy, horn-rimmed glasses. Tom thought it made her look even cuter. "Hi Mariah, I felt bad that I hadn't been around to see you in a while. Are you on your way out?"  
"I was just about to take the dog for a walk, but come in. How have you been?"  
"Good. I didn't want to come empty-handed this morning. I got you some fresh roasted coffee-beans, and these are for you," Tom said, handing her some flowers. "They're to celebrate that we've had some breakthroughs with organ regeneration. We're hoping to be able start the preliminaries this week. You need to come down to the lab, where we'll run some tests and then, if all goes well, we'll start growing you the new valves for your heart. But with your own DNA, so there will be no risk of rejection."  
"That's good new, right? What's the bad news? You seem to be in a cloud of melancholy."  
"No, no. I'm probably just tired, is all. There's been some drama at work, and so I've been up all night, but that shouldn't affect the time frame of your treatment."  
"Great," said Mariah, as she started making the coffee. "And I know this didn't all happen by accident. I will be indebted to an incredible amount of hard work by you and your colleagues. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."  
"It's true, everyone I work with truly believes in this project, and their passion and commitment has produced results. But I need not be mentioned."  
Mariah sat down at the table with him and cocked her head sideways. "Why not?" she asked with a teasing smile.  
Tom took a breath. "Because you're not just another patient for me. I've always wanted to help you because I think you're a good person who deserves to live, and my conscience compelled me to consider all the options and investigate any possible opportunity." After a pause, he said, "Here," handing her his notebook where he'd written the poem for her. "I wrote this for you."  
She gave him an arch smile, "I thought I was the one who was supposed to write you the poem."  
"You were. You are, don't think I'm not going to hold you to that. But I wanted to write you something too."  
"Read it to me. It will have more meaning if I hear it in the poet's own voice. You can read it with the proper rhythm and intonation."  
Tom read her the poem. As he was finishing she got up, cupped his face with both hands and kissed him ardently. "Did you like it?" he managed to say. As they kissed, she started running her hand up the inside of his T-shirt, to his chest. Tom stopped her hand with his. "Are you sure we should do this? I don't want your heart to suffer."  
She gently drew her fingers down his cheek with her other hand. "I want to. Just be gentle."  
They continued kissing, as Tom's single-minded resolve to find the remedy to Mariah's heart condition remained firmer than ever.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Connors suddenly awoke and sat up with a violent jolt. An unnatural clicking started emitting from his throat, as he looked around the room with wild eyes and a savage expression. The noise startled Gwen out of an uneasy doze. She quickly tried to soothe her patient, slightly increased his drip of the chimera trait restriction serum, and pressed a cold cloth to his forehead. He struggled to speak.

"Shh. Just rest. Your body is adapting to and at the same time fighting some of the foreign DNA from the retrovirus."

"That's to be expected," he mumbled.

"But the good news is your arm has already started to regenerate. So relax, and conserve your strength."

Connors' mind experienced waves of great clarity, coupled with periods beclouded with great confusion. After a week in the hospital, he was able to return to his home, for more doctor prescribed bed rest. The doctors and scientists were still keeping quiet about this latest development to protect the company and their research, for no one knew exactly what would happen. Connors was beginning to feel like he had vanquished a great adversary, and although a definite uncertainty yet remained, he happily returned to working from his home. After considering several documents on his computer, and feeling like he was regaining his former strength and intellect, he informed his wife that he was going to take a walk to further clear his head.

Julian Connors had always enjoyed walking. In imitation of many of his most respected thinkers such as Darwin, Nietzsche, Dickens, and Beethoven, Dr. Connors also felt that there was no better way to promote his scientific creativity and have these energies flowing the more abundantly, than when he was enjoying an outdoor constitutional. He even had a thinking path near his property, which he occupied when he was struggling with particularly complex problems. Now that he was convalescing in preparation for what would undoubtedly be his greatest achievement, to say nothing of the physical benefits, a brisk walk seemed in order. He was thoroughly enjoying the fresh air, the exercise, and the beauty of nature, when he suffered a cramp that caused him to double over in pain.

Groaning he said to himself, "Come on Julian, transcend the pain. You can do this."

The next thing that Connors remembered was waking up, after having rolled off the path into some leaves. He opened his eyes in a daze, wiping the foamy dribble from his face and mouth. "I could just sleep right here," he thought. "But why am I here?" Different memories started flooding back to him. His arm had some pain but was growing stronger by the day, even if it was not yet fully developed. Then a particular recollection flashed back to his reptilian mind.

"Norman Osborne," he growled. 'Yes, he is the threat. The threat to my research, the threat to my very existence, the threat to _my_ company. Norman Osborne must be neutralized.' And with that, Dr. Julian Connors went off to stalk his prey.

Norman Osborne slept fitfully in his bedroom that he had converted into a hospice. He had nurses caring and checking on him every hour. He still owned shares and real estate outright in Oscorp tower, and by maintaining his residence on the 99th floor, he prolonged the projection of his power and control. He had no doubt in his twisted, egocentric mind than he would recoup his company and his health. Nothing less than immortality would satisfy his grandiose avariciousness.

But invincibility still eluded him. Thus he retained an army of private security and bodyguards, all men that could be trusted implicitly. His most elite and trustworthy resided in his room with him, at all times. So when Osborne stirred from his spasmodic slumber the first thing he did was call to his guardian. "Klaus? Klaus, come!" Then he felt a cool breeze gust across his face, coming from the suspiciously gaping window. Turning on his bedside light, he said "Klaus! Why is the window open?" But as the lamp illuminated the room, he saw not Klaus, but a figure much more menacing indeed.

"Sorry, Osborne," said a raspy voice. "Klaus had to step out for a moment. That makes it convenient for the two of us to catch up."

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I see the treatments have extended your life. Even if you were left a bit disfigured, that was no reason to attempt to destroy me."

"Who are you? I demand an answer, for the love of God!"

"Yes," The owner of the rasping breath moved closer to the bed. "For the love of God!" Only when the lamp shone fully on the displeasing aspect of his face could Osborne attempt to identify his antagonist, but in analyzing the twisted features, he felt as if he was decrypting a cipher. When like an epiphany, recognition reared to the fore as an ancient fiend would rise from the depths. "Connors? But what are you doing here?" he said, with a trace of terror slipping out.

"I am here, because I have become the zenith of humankind. A prototype of what will prove to be the acme of human evolution. And you wanted to have me liquidated, so you could selfishly keep these discoveries for yourself? Fate has found you deficient, and seen fit to eradicate you. Good-bye, Osborne." And with that, the Chimera smothered Norman Osborne with a pillow, and escaped out the window, slithering down the outside of the building, 99 floors.

Tom was very excited to have Mariah with him at Oscorp labs. He had explained to her some of the techniques, many of which were still in the experimental phase that they were preparing for her operation. Like most heart conditions, Mariah was afflicted with defective heart valves, but the regenerative medicine that Tom was studying was working on growing heart valves from her own cells. And Tom was hoping to use the new treatments to guide Mariah's own body to grow the valves so that surgery would not be necessary. But being able to actually show Mariah the lab, the equipment and the other scientists made it all much more real, and the exciting possibilities that Tom's hypothesis implied.

As he was happily showing Mariah around, Gwen came in. Tom felt a twinge of embarrassment, but he wasn't sure why. He wasn't betraying Gwen by being with Mariah, was he? Gwen was making her choice of Julian Connors over him anyway! Then why did he feel a pang of guilt?

Gwen was very gracious with Mariah. Then she asked to talk to Tom privately. Leaving Mariah in the bullpen, Tom asked, "What's up?"

"Norman Osborne is dead, murdered."

"Whoa. What happened?"

"Seems like one of his bodyguards suffocated him in his sleep and then jumped out the window. 99 floors."

"Yuck. Who was this guy? Just an employee with a grudge? And a death-wish?"

"I don't know. There are a lot of unanswered questions. Anyway, just wanted to let you know. Also, one more thing. Dr. Connors is putting together his team to go the World Medical conference in Paris. He's asked me to go."

"Oh, that's great, Gwen. Congratulations. You've earned it. Although I'm definitely going to miss you around here."

"Something tells me you'll find ways to keep yourself occupied," she said, looking over at Mariah.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Tom said sheepishly. "But I'm serious when I say I'm really happy for you. Come here, let me give you a hug."

They made their way back to where Mariah was waiting. She had seen them talking and gave Tom a curious look. Tom explained, "I was just congratulating Gwen. She's been chosen to be one of Oscorp's representatives at one the world's biggest medical conferences in Paris."

"Wow, congratulations! And in Paris! That's a bonus. I hope you'll have time to do some sightseeing. Maybe find some romance?"

Tom and Gwen looked at each other. She just said, "You never know. Anyways, it's been a real pleasure meeting you."

"Likewise."

Tom sent Mariah home, while he got to work on the logistics of her operation. Toby came to tell him some disappointing news. "I was running the computer simulation for your patient. We can't generate the heart valves from the patients DNA in the time window you provided. But it would be possible to grow them if we extended the window from six to eight months. Does that work?"

"No it does not. Are you absolutely sure?"

"I ran the simulation twenty times. I'm sorry." Toby walked away.

Tom punched the wall. 'There had to be another option.' He went to his desk, and poured over studies, documents, and calculations. He was not going to be thwarted now, not when he was so close! There had to be a way! Then he started thinking of possible chimera possibilities. This was an untried source of solutions. He just knew he wouldn't rest until he had explored every option.

Finally he felt he had it. He went to the computer model simulator. It was true, if he used just Mariah's DNA to generate the needed heart valves, it would take too long. But if he added the hybrid technology, specifically orang-utan DNA, what would happen? After running it many times and making light adjustments, it was theoretically possible to generate the desired orang-utan/ Mariah hybrid heart valves in just over two months. "Eureka!" Tom yelled. Even though he knew he was being corny, he didn't care. He immediately got to work on the bio-moulds to grow the valves and engineered en vitro the fusion of the human and orang-utan DNA.

That night, as he lay in bed, he hovered in that state between wakeful and asleep, when he thought he saw an old man, who looked vaguely familiar. He spoke as if he knew everything about Tom, but in a language very difficult to understand. Then he caught Tom's attention: "But spider, thou art no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain."

"Why do you speak in rhymes?" asked Tom, angry. "And how do you know I'm part spider?"

"The best-laid schemes o' spider-men, Gang aft agley," the old man continued in his joyful singsong. "An' lea'e us nought but tried an' pain, For promis'd joy!"

Tom awoke with a start. As he vainly tried to fall back to sleep, he began to understand his dream's meaning. He felt disturbed as the message was all too clear and kept repeating in his ears.

'The best laid plans of mice and men / Often go awry.'


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The next morning, Tom was hard at work on some assignments he had received regarding organ regeneration and figuring out ways to grow the organs more efficiently. It would seem that many of his superiors in the company were prioritizing that his division become financially solvent, something Tom had never given a second thought. As he was beginning to receive more responsibility in the lab, he also came to be aware of the politics and the economic nit picking that always was part and parcel of any big corporation. He agreed with the desire to make the treatment affordable, but he felt that that would come in time, and wasn't particularly happy in sacrificing what would be a great product from the get go, in trying to create an innovative but inferior product that would possibly make more money.

He decided to call Mariah, both to see how she was and to receive some comfort. "Hey Boo," he said, "How are you feeling today?"

"Not so good, actually. Nothing too serious, I just feel nauseous, like I don't want to leave my bed."

"That's too bad, but at this stage it should be normal. I'll come check on you at lunchtime."

"I think I'm just going to rest today and I'm sorry. I think I have to cancel our dinner for tonight."

"That's okay, I think I'll have to work late tonight, I don't know what time I would get home. Would you be really upset if I didn't make it to see you until tomorrow?"

Mariah laughed. "I'll be fine. I'm a big girl."

"As one of your physicians, I'll tell you to just rest today, and save your strength. Don't worry about anything."

As he tried to get back to focusing on the less interesting parts of his job, he caught sight of Toby playing tour guide around the lab for a young guy in a suit. Toby saw Tom looking their way and began to direct the guy towards him. The young man was distinguished by a very astute countenance and a shock of wavy hair that seemed to defy gravity.

"Tom, I'd like to introduce you to someone. A genuine entrepreneur. Mr. Augustus, may I present Tom Jones, one of our top interns, and he has proved himself to be an exceptional researcher and all around wizard in the lab."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Tom said.

"The pleasure is mine, and please, call me Harold," the man said, "Based on what I've been hearing, you're the man I should get to know if I want answers to my questions."

"Well," said Tom, shaking his head sheepishly, "You can't believe everything this man says. Toby, when you build me up too much like that, everyone will know I'm lying when I brag about myself later."

"I've never known you to brag, Tom, in fact you're too modest with what you've been able to accomplish in your short time here. So Mr. Augustus is very interested in investing in our company and he specifically mentioned learning more about your research."

"Oh really?" asked Tom, "Do you have a background in medical research?"

"Not at all," said Harold, "I just like to do my homework when it comes to what I do with my money. And let me say I am very impressed from what I've seen so far."

"Great." Tom's attention diverted to Harold's hat that he was holding. "I like your fedora. Is that Sinatra or Bogart?"

"It's supposed to be Bruno Mars," said Harold, smiling. "So I guess that would make it more Sinatra."

"Totally. That's a great style. Classic rat-pack!"

"I guess I'm partial to the genre. Actually I've been wondering something, and maybe you can help me. I'm only in New York for a couple of days, and I wanted to visit a really great jazz club while I'm here. I don't suppose you could direct me to one."

"Ah, yeah. Hands down, you should check out the Village Vanguard, at 7th and 11th. It's known as the place where John Coltrane recorded his most famous stuff," Tom said.

"I liked that other place you took me to that time, Tom. What's it called again? Oh yeah, 55 Bar. I liked it. Cool atmosphere. It's more of a guitar jazz club, which I liked," piped in Toby.

"Or if you want a little more modern style, Smalls, up in Greenwich Village, is a really cool place, as well. I saw Norah Jones perform there once. It's a cool venue and a little bit bigger."

"Thanks. See I knew I was asking the right person. Well what are you guys doing tonight? Let's see who's playing tonight and go hear some jazz. What do you say?" asked Harold.

"I'm in," said Toby eagerly.

Tom hesitated. "I do have a lot of work to do. But I guess I don't really have any real commitments. Oh, what the hell. A night of great music is probably exactly what I need. Let's do it."

That night Toby, Tom, and Harold Augustus went out to Smalls Jazz Club, to hear Victor Gould's sextet. When they arrived, Harold waved to a blonde man, and said to the other guys, "I hope you don't mind, but I invited a friend of mine to join us. Tom, Toby, I'd like to introduce you to Markus Vitaly, my good friend and business partner. Alright, let's get some drinks and enjoy the show."

The music was fantastic. Gould was great on piano, and the rest of the band was hellatight. Tom always enjoyed seeing jazz drummers perform and the skins player that night, EJ Strickland, was excellent.

After the set, the four of them continued talking, finishing their gin martinis. Tom got chatting with Markus, who was a pretty interesting guy. "Markus Vitaly, nice you could hang with us while you're here in the city. Is this your first time here?"

"I have leeved here before. But I always enjoy my time here. Love the architecture. Anytime I am in New York I veesit Empire State Buildink and the Chrysler. My favororeet ees the Art Deco."

"You've got great taste, my friend. And you and Harold, have you known each other for a long time?"

"We grow up together, until hees family came to America. Then after few years, I came here, as well. Now I serve in US armed forces. I just get back from second tour in Iraq."

"Thank you for your service," said Toby.

" _Pazhalooysta."_

"I thought I recognized the accent. You speak Russian," said Tom.

" _Da._ Now I have lived in America for ten years. But I keep my accent," Markus said, smiling.

"Hey, the accent looks great on you. Can I ask you a personal question? Was it really tough serving in the American military as a Russian?"

"They gave me hard time for one time. But afterwards, no one gave me hard time again. No one dared," Markus said emphatically.

"I'll bet," said Tom under his breath.

"So I had also promised Markus that you blokes would help him to meet some women. Can you guys help me out in that department?" asked Harold.

"That weel not be necessary," laughed Markus, looking embarrassed.

"I'm happily married," said Toby. "So I'm afraid I've probably forgotten how to meet women. Sorry. But Tom here, he could help you out. Although I think he might work too much. Maybe he's forgotten as well. The only woman I've ever seen you with is Gwen Stacy. Did you guys ever..?"

"No, no, no," Tom protested, probably more emphatically than was necessary. "We're just good friends, and partners. We came over from McGowan together. But we've never dated or anything. I kind of think that I'm not her type."

"I've heard of your Gwen Stacy," said Harold animatedly, "She sounds like quite the woman. Intelligent. Beautiful. Ambitious. I very much look forward to having the pleasure of making her acquaintance.

"Well Mischa," he said to Markus, "I think its time we let these gentlemen get some rest for the night. Toby, thank you for everything today. You were an excellent tour guide. Rest assured that I will be in touch regarding an investment." Toby looked elated, and exhausted, for it was after three in the morning.

Tom arrived at the lab the next morning, tired and fighting a bit of a hangover. He brushed past a tightly packed group that were having an intense conversation so he could slump down into his desk chair. Toby came over, trying to rub away the dark circles from under his eyes. "Morning Tom. Did you hear anything from the Paris convention?"

"Toby, all I'm thinking about right now is how much this coffee isn't strong enough for me this morning. But I'm guessing something happened that you'd like to tell me. Yeah, it looks like you're gonna tell me."

"Well, apparently the conference was a bit of gong show."

Tom choked down a gulp of brown liquid. "Ack! This coffee is terrible! Why? What happened?"

"Well first of all, Connors collapsed during one of their keynote presentations. It was crazy. You can watch it on Youtube." Tom looked over at the group of coworkers. Now he understood why they were all packed together.

"What happened? Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he got up pretty quickly and tried to act like it was nothing. Surprisingly, most people seem to be treating it as nothing. But that's not the only thing that happened."

"Oh no. There's more?"

"It would seem that they decided to use the conference as a platform to announce Connors' breakthrough."

"You mean, they told the medical establishment that Connors spliced his own DNA with that of a lizard?" gaped Tom. "How did that go over?"

"Well when he passed out after the announcement, fewer people noticed because they were still reeling from that bombshell."

"Well how did they announce it?"

"I'm not really sure. Ask Peter. He seems to have seen more." Toby called Peter over. "So how did all of this go down?"

"So Connors is doing his keynote for a lot of the medical big shots from around the world. And Iraklis is by his side. And during a presentation about organ regeneration, you can see Iraklis trying to interrupt Connors. He does this a couple of times. And then, he just kind of butts in and shows everyone Connors arm, and how it's starting to grow back."

"It was huge on dramatic impact. Lacking in professional discretion," said Guy, now joining the conversation.

"But I don't get it. Was this all part of the presentation? Did they plan this?" asked Tom.

"That's the thing that nobody seems to know. Connors went along with it, but the whole performance wasn't exactly polished. And then Connor collapsed so it's hard to say what he was thinking," said Peter.

"Yeah, and then, if you watch the video closely, you can see Gwen give Connors a shot with what looks like an epi-pen. And that's the story they went with afterwards. That Connors had ingested something he was allergic to and his aide was there to administer epinephrine. Everyone seems to have bought it, but I'm not convinced," said Guy. "I mean, now we know he's turned himself into a freakin' Chimera! This is not something normal. Gwen must have given him some sort of moderator. But of course there's going to be complications. We've crossed a line here people. We've blurred the lines of right and wrong when we started messing with DNA like that. And then announcing it to the world in this cavalier manner does not sit well with me."

"He's a brilliant man, but what was he thinking letting the world know before we even have all the data gathered? It's not scientific and it's not professional," agreed Toby.

"But what is the blogosphere saying?" asked Tom. "And have other doctors written their opinions about it?"

"Surprisingly, most people seem do not have a problem with it," said Toby. "But it was very reckless to let everyone look up our skirt like this. Now we will no doubt be the target of much unwanted attention and criticism."

"And I find that very worrisome, actually, that everyone is just fine with it," railed Guy. "What is the world coming to if people are just prepared to accept this kind of violation of humanity and animal life? Don't people still believe that we have a stewardship of responsibility to protect life, as we know it? Or are people just prepared to sacrifice their ethics because they need more freaks to star in their reality TV?"

"Uh-oh, you guys are going to want to see this," said Peter, motioning over to the TV, "I think the fallout has already started."

The four of them watched a CNN debate where a congressman; Dr. Miles Warren, and a senator, Billy Baker, debated on the legality and morality of cross-species genetics. Congressman Warren was also a biology professor before he got into politics, and he had a reputation for being very opinionated about the varying fields of genetic research. His argument was summed up when he stated, "This ethically murky swamp that Dr. Connors has led Oscorp down is fraught with terror and destruction, that can only result in suffering for the human race, and for America. As scientists, we have a duty to respect life and the genetic code that has been handed down to us. And in this United States, we have a moral obligation to set the example for other scientific communities and the rest of the world."

"But we may point out, that currently in the United States, there are no laws prohibiting, or otherwise governing animal-human hybrids," pointed out Wolf Blitzer, the CNN host.

"Yes, but many other countries have seen fit to ban this research. We are just being overindulgent to these scientists, who are so excited about what they've figured out that they _can_ do, that they haven't stopped to think about whether they _should_ meddle with human experiments and with the animal kingdom. And you don't have to be religious or an animal rights activist to see that this just doesn't make sense."

"That's what I said," piped in Guy.

"And you Senator, what's your opinion in this debate?" asked Blitzer.

"Well, first I'd like to say that I have always respected Dr. Connors as a man and as a scientist," began Senator Billy Baker.

"Aw, man, he's such a politician," interrupted Tom.

"But that being said, I have to concede that Congressman Warren makes some very valid points. It's true that this research seems to be leading to some medical breakthroughs, but still I think I speak for many of my fellow Americans in saying that these human experiments should not be done. There are other ways to advance medicine and human health besides going out into the strange brave new world of chimeric animals, such as, for example; sophisticated computer modelling. We should also be investigating these possibilities to avoid experimentation on live animals. So while I applaud the passion and ingenuity of Dr. Julian Connors and all the good doctors at Oscorp labs, I still fear that this is a venture too far. Once the technology is developed, how are we to control it? There is legitimate concern in the question: how do we know that these hybrids will not be put to uses that are problematic, risky or dangerous? There are other countries less friendly and lawless that are just waiting in the wings to mimic these medical breakthroughs, such as the Chinese. And what were to happen should North Korea, or Iran undertake a program to create an army of super soldiers? I shudder at the possible repercussions."

"Entirely true, Senator. Well said," complimented the Congressman, "It is really only the scientists who want to pursue this research, but as the Senator has said, they have gone over the edge into the pathological domain. That is precisely why I am in the process of opening up a congressional sub-committee to investigate any breaches of law or decency that have already been committed, and to create legislation for the future. Canada has already passed the Assisted Human Reproduction Act, which bans the creation of chimeras, or animal-human hybrids, so we have the example and precedent of our neighbours to the north. And I personally feel that we can seek direction from the Geneva Convention to guide us into a biologically and genetically protected future."

'Oh no,' thought Tom, "Is this a debate, or a love-in?" he asked out loud, irritated.

"Don't take it personally, Tom," said Peter, "But these politicians actually make some good points."

"And we'd better prepare ourselves," said Guy, "There's going to be a federal investigation into our work and research. Federal! There's no way I'm sacrificing my career for the whims of a tyrant. This is all going to be on him. Right, Toby?"

Toby sat silent, his brow furrowed, obviously ruminating his own debate in his head. Finally he spoke, "Connors is a reasonable man. Surely he wouldn't sacrifice the company for the sake of his ego." He sounded like he was asking a question, and he looked to the others for an answer.

"Well there's no way I'm going to bet my chips on Connors' supposed goodness. But I take what you said to indicate that you are not in agreement with mortgaging our futures for Connors' current self-image and a freakishly new arm?"

Toby set his jaw. "No I do not." This conversation was beginning to make Tom feel very uncomfortable.

"Well then, fate has left it up to us to change the course of this company," said Guy, defiantly. "Are you all with me?"

"What are you proposing? A coup?" asked Tom.

"No, that would be unconvincing. We will need to act more decisively."

"This is getting to be too deep for me. After all I'm still just an intern. Excuse me," said Tom, leaving.

"He may be a problem," remarked Peter to the others.

Tom left the lab in a hurry. He was beginning to feel very nervous that the government would stop, or at least put a moratorium on all the research being done, including the heart valves for Mariah that still required some time. He wanted to talk to Gwen, to see if she had any insights that might make him feel better. Really nobody seemed to understand and support Connors more than her. But that did not seem possible at the moment, as she would not return from France for another few days, and it was currently the middle of the night in Paris. Then Tom had an idea. Maybe he could talk to Congressman Miles Warren, who lived in New York, and perhaps help him to see that already there were human lives at stake. Tom went to track down the Congressman. He was able to figure out that he had a speaking engagement at a fundraiser, so Tom went to wait for him outside the hotel.

Tom was able to glean from the concierge of the hotel that the Congressman would be leaving early, because he had another appointment uptown. Sure enough, he left the fundraiser just after 8:00, and Tom was able to intercept him just before his car came around. "Dr. Warren? I was hoping to have a brief word with you." Tom spoke as he came out of the shadows.

"Who's there? Look, I don't know who you are, son, but if you need something you can try and set up an appointment with my office."

"I'm sorry, sir, but this is a very urgent matter that pertains to Dr. Connors' research."

Warren paused, and looked at Tom. "Dr. Connors' research? That is interesting, but I'm afraid I can't help you now." Suddenly Tom felt a fierce chill go up and down his spine, setting all his nerves on edge, his faculties on high alert and his muscles charged with adrenaline. Something was about to happen…

"Call my secretary and set up an appointment. You can talk with one of my…"

"Get down! Look out!" screamed Tom, just as shots started firing towards them. Tom managed to knock the Congressman down to the sidewalk. The shots came just before the car swung around, so they were able to use the car for cover. The unknown sniper then proceeded to take out the driver. The mortally wounded man released his foot off the brake, and the limousine accelerated past them and drove through the lobby doors of the hotel before crashing into a giant planter. Tom continued to try to guide the congressman to cover behind a parked car further ahead.

Once Warren collected himself, he looked at Tom with wild eyes. "What is it that you want? Please don't kill me!"

"Believe me, sir, I have nothing to do with this. But I will try to get you out. Please stay here," Tom yelled, running away to try to get around to the rear of the shooter. Once cloaked in darkness, Tom leaped up to a second storey fire escape and began to scale the outside of the building. He had donned his Nacho Libre mask, shed his jacket to display his UR jersey and was leaping and climbing like a jumping spider. His heightened awareness informed him the shooter was hiding on a fourth floor balcony. Tom raced towards him with terrifying speed.

But unfortunately not fast enough. Meanwhile, the Congressman was panicking, convinced that Tom was part of the conspiracy. Once Tom had left for what felt to him like hours, he got up and started to run. He made it two meters before the sniper picked him off in the back of the head with a kill shot. Tom was now only inches away from pouncing on the assassin, but once he made the shot, he efficiently rappelled down the building to the ground. He was on the sidewalk in seconds, and ran towards the body. But Tom leaped from the balcony and tackled the attacker from four floors away.

They tumbled and rolled on the street. The shooter demonstrated remarkable dexterity and ability in hand-to-hand combat. Tom was overwhelmed momentarily as his opponent recovered and came at him with a military knife. Tom just managed to dodge the blow when the man continued towards the unfortunate Congressman. He went for his wallet and watch when Tom came up from behind, double kicking the attacker in the kidneys. Doubling over in pain, but again on the attack he pulled out a pistol. Tom kicked it out of his hand and pulled off his ski mask. He was greeted by a very muscular and grim countenance, with malice burning from his eyes. He again attacked with his large knife, but Tom was ahead of him with a punch to the face. Unfortunately, the man dodged the blow and Tom's fist went into the wall behind him. As Tom reeled in pain, the mystery man stabbed at Tom from behind. Tom managed to dive to the ground with lightning speed, but he still sustained a flesh wound to his shoulder. Fighting through the pain, he rolled under the man, and launched both feet into the man's privates, briefly stunning him. Leaping up, he then knocked the man unconscious with a garbage canister.

His eyes darted around the scene. He quickly took photos of the man, and the crime scene and then dissolved into the night, with the echo of sirens reverberating behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Tom once again found himself at the offices of the Daily Bugle with photos and a story. This time, he wanted to sell the photos to see if their investigative reporters could get some answers. He made the pleasant re-acquaintance with Betty, the pretty receptionist, who, smilingly, directed him to wait, as Mr. Jameson would see him in a minute.

Tom took his seat beside a tough, streetwise looking guy in a leather jacket. The guy eyed Tom with squinted eyes, and then held out his hand to shake. "Howya doin? Name's Eddie Brock. You got some photos to sell?" He gestured towards Tom's camera, while balancing a toothpick in his mouth.

"Um, maybe." Tom wasn't really in the mood for conversation.

"Alright! A would be photojournalist, eh? Look, kid I'm going to make you the deal of a lifetime. I also got some photos, but I'm protecting a cover, see? So how's you like to make a trade? I'll bet you mine are juicier than yours. What you got? Pictures of Britney Spears in her bathrobe?"

"Not exactly…" Tom started to say, when Brock started showing him his photos. 'Holy crap!' he thought, as he found himself staring at photos of the murder of the congressman, and his fight with the assailant. Tom grabbed the tablet and flipped through all of them. "Is this all you have?" he demanded.

"All I have?" Brock asked, perplexed. "I'd say that that's plenty."

"But you don't have any more of the guy dressed as the Mexican Wrestler?"

"Naw, once he KO'd the guy in black, I hightailed it out of there. Why you ask?"

"Well, I'm afraid I won't be able to trade with you," and Tom showed him his photos.

"Hell's bells! You were at the same place as me."

"But I didn't get my camera out until most of the action was over," Tom said, truthfully.

"Well, look here, pal. My cover identity is worth protecting to me, see? It's my bread and butter. So how's you just add my photos to yours's and sell them all together, see? That way, I'm protected and you owes me a favour. Whatya say?"

"Okay," said Tom, thinking that it did actually fill out his own photo story.

And with that, Eddie Brock passed over his photos and left. Tom was soon called into J.J. Jameson's office. "Who the hell are you?" Jameson yelled, as his standard greeting.

"More photos sir, of the crime fighter dressed as the Mexican Wrestler," said Tom, meekly.

"Great. Great." He grabbed the phone. "Betty! Get me copy on the line! I got it. Masked vigilante, known as The Mexican… No, no, that's too racially inflammatory. Known as the Luchador, gets into firefight in the middle of Manhattan street. Three victims, including well-known Congressman Dr. Miles Warren murdered. That's a great headline. We'll go from there."

"But sir, that makes it sound like the Luchador murdered the Congressman. You're not going to do any reporting into the identity of the man who was the attacker?"

"What are you still doing here? Since you stuck around, I'll give you some free advice. Mystery men who look like everyone else don't keep people up at night. But a freak roaming the streets, leaving a wake of collateral damage, that'll sell newspapers. Now get the hell out of here. Betty! Get in here!"

Tom was unceremoniously ushered out of the office. For the moment, he was at a loss as to what to do. He went to a bar and ordered a whisky. His shoulder was still bleeding a little and he wanted to forget his worries and unanswered questions. His aimlessly played with his phone. Then he came across Carmen's number. 'She might have an interesting perspective,' he thought, dialling. She picked up. "Hello, Carmen? This is Peter Parker. I mean, I think I introduced myself as Tom Jones, just before you told me to use a _nom de plume_. Could I trouble you for a bit of advice?"

"Well I'm up to my eyeballs in Irrawaddy dolphin corpses. But I guess I can spare you maybe, two minutes. What's up?" Tom informed her of his dilemma. "And you just handed over the photos without inquiring into his identity or at least following up with the police investigation? Come on, Jones, I thought even you were better than that. What do your journalistic instincts tell you?"

"That there's something very strange at work here. Probably a cover up."

"Uh yeah. Hello! Random former military assassins don't use high-powered rifles to steal wallets of influential congressman. You didn't stick around to see what the detective assigned the case had to say?"

"No, I had to leave. But I can look into that."

"Yeah, you'd better. Because between the press, the District Attorney and the Federal Government, this thing is going to be spun so that the public won't ask any more questions. Be a reporter. Ask the tough questions that the establishment don't want to answer. They're just protecting their own asses and are not looking out for anyone else's interests, no matter how much they say that they're trying to prevent 'panic.'"

"Thanks. I have a few clues to start with."

"I have a detective that owes me a favour. I'll text you his info. Good luck."

Tom was able to get a hold of the detective, a certain Detective Leary, but it turned out to be a dead end. The police knew little more than Tom. The mystery assassin managed to escape shortly after he was cuffed and thrown into the back of a squad car. Thus the cops never ran his prints, or never even got a photo to run through face recognition. Tom, on the other hand, did have a clear picture of his face. He also had a photo of a small insignia on his jacket. The small logo had a cartoon skull with the slogan 'Despite what your momma told you, violence does solve problems.' He called up his old friend Beaker. It was time to challenge their hacking skills by attempting to access the FBI database. They managed to successfully do so and identified Tom's assailant as Frank Castle, a former U.S. Army Delta Force operator. When they cross-referenced the insignia and M.O. of the shooting, they were able to find one other hit; an assassin matching his description had taken out an investigative journalist, and tried to disguise it as a robbery. Tom gulped. That killing had been attributed to an enigmatic gun-for-hire known as The Punisher, and it seemed that he had leaked that little information himself to embellish his burgeoning reputation.

"Okay," said Tom, drawing the conclusions for himself, "Obviously somebody with serious juice hired this Frank Castle to take out the Congressman. But who hired him?" Tom had run out of leads, and exhaustion was starting to catch up with him. He returned to his dorm room and flipped on the TV. He was about to drift of to sleep when the news caught his attention. Connors was doing a press conference in France, dutifully flanked by Iraklis and Gwen. To much ceremony, he was announcing an Oscorp joint charity with the Methuselah foundation to offer regenerated organs to people without insurance. "I am informed that the average cost of a heart transplant in the United States costs somewhere in the neighbourhood of $700,000." Connors said. "How many more can live if we can offer regenerated organs to everyone, at a paltry fraction of this price? How many of your loved ones would survive? How many amputees, like myself, could restore themselves for a long and happy life? How long could you live?" He seemed to be asking the viewer.

Tom's ears were buzzing. He was so tired. The whole day had been a roller coaster of seeming moves and countermoves. Part of him was very contented to hear of Connors' humanitarian work. Tom was fully in agreement with sharing the technology. Mariah was just one of millions that could benefit from their research, so why shouldn't all benefit? He fell asleep, thinking that the day's events might just protect his precious heart valves and his gift of life for Mariah, his love, after all.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The next day, Tom was busy at his microscope, monitoring the progress of his regenerations, when Senator Billy Baker, accompanied by Toby, walked into the lab. "Attention everyone," announced Toby. "I have the pleasure to introduce Senator Baker as a new member of the board of directors here at Oscorp. I expect all of you to extend the usual courtesies to an honoured guest and to offer your full and unreserved cooperation. He may pass by and ask some questions, so feel free to explain everything to him. Thank you. After you Senator." Toby waved Baker on ahead of him.

Before long, the Senator sidled up to Tom's workstation. "So what are you working on here, son?" he asked, in as friendly a tone as a New Yorker can assume.

"I'm regenerating valves for a human heart," said Tom, stressing the word human.

"That's fascinating, young man, truly nothing short of astonishing. To achieve what you have, you need to know what you are doing, and that my friend, is real power. You've done some great work here, my young scholar, great work indeed. You must truly love life, to dedicate yourself to the biosciences in this manner. But as a reasonable man, you must know that to be true to this love, you ought never to live for the sake of another man, yes? So I trust we can count on your devotion to your science, and the company, not just an individual?"

Tom was stung by the remark. "Sir, if you explained your interest in my work a little more plainly, than perhaps I could better explain," he said, dully.

"Listen up, my young savant, and hear me well. This company stands to be the leading innovator in medical science, but will only survive if it receives a major shakedown, starting from the top. Why do you think they brought me onto the board?"

"Surely I don't know, sir," said Tom. "I thought you didn't agree with what we were trying to accomplish here."

"Look, son, I will speak plainly to you. I feel that you have earned it. I am, first and foremost, a philosopher, and as such, I understand better than any that the purpose of morality is to teach you, not to suffer and die, but to enjoy yourself and live. I believe in what you are accomplishing, I only fear that you are under poor administration. Throughout the centuries there were men who took first steps down new roads, armed with nothing but their own vision. I believe that Oscorp has assembled a team of leaders, real A players, to pave the way for a bright future. But Dr. Connors has made a critical error: it is morally ludicrous to be offering such marvellous technology to even those poor who could never appreciate what they have received. Perhaps in the short term, it seemed a clever political move, but if any civilization is to survive, it is the morality of altruism that men have to reject. And giving away for free your hard work is hardly laudable, and simply does not make fiscal sense. Money, after all, is the barometer of a society's virtue. Connors' program gives away all our power. These impoverished mobs will take what they can from you, and then turn around and rip you open. Force and mind are opposites; morality ends where a gun begins. I assume your family is well to do. How would your folks feel if you fell off the ladder of success, by missing the rungs of opportunity to help some penniless rabble?"

Tom was getting more and more frustrated. The Senator's views sickened him, yet he talked with a seductiveness that Tom was struggling to logically refute. "I won't go against Dr. Connors," he finally said stubbornly.

"Whoa, son, you mistake my meaning, sir. Yes indeed, you misunderstand me. But remember, even when a man says I love you, he must first be able to say the 'I.' You think about that, son. You think about that."

That afternoon, Tom didn't want to be at the lab anymore. Office politics were really ruining a job that he had loved. At that point, he was summoned over to the television once again. 'What is it now?' he thought.

This time it was a diehard supporter of Oscorp, and of Connors in particular, expounding why their medical research was worthy of endorsement. Wilson Fisk, local businessman, politician and philanthropist, lavished praise on Connors' charity. "Finally we can welcome a corporation with a conscience into our communities and country. It is my prayer that more companies will learn from Dr. Connors' shining example and follow suit helping the disadvantaged into a bright future," he said.

"I'm so sick of these politicians!" Tom complained. "They're all as transparent as Grandma's underpants." His protests were greeted by being told to hush from his colleagues. 'Will this day never end?' he groaned to himself.

After what seemed like eternity, he was out and on his way to the sanctuary of Mariah's house. When he arrived, she was at her piano _._ When she took a pause, Tom greeted her with a passionate kiss and poured her a glass of wine.

"'And now kiss me, for minding you so well,'" she said, quoting Wuthering Heights.

"You certainly make me feel like the luckiest man on earth," he said, smiling and kissing her again. "But play The heart asks pleasure first again." Mariah cheerfully complied, playing as well Big My Secret. Then she took a break and Tom sat next to her on the piano bench. He was not as accomplished a pianist as Mariah was, so he played the song he knew best, _Hallelujah_ , which he sang to her as well.  
"That was delightful, my love," she said, with her face on the back of his neck. "You want to eat? I prepared you a special dinner."  
"I would love to. Thank you."

They sat down to enjoy a lovely meal of beef tenderloin with balsamic tomatoes, accompanied by an almost chocolatey Pinot Noir.

After they finished eating, Tom requested Mariah to play the piano again. "Renoir was inspired by the way the female form is accentuated when seated at the piano."  
"Well Renoir was also inspired to paint people dancing." Her eyebrows went up enticingly.  
Tom looked into her eyes, as _Live_ played in the background off the Bose SoundDock. "You make me see a sky full of the stars that change our minds, and lead us back to a world we would not face. You make me actually wanna dance with you." Mariah put on some mambo and Bossa Nova while Tom stumbled his way through the latin dance moves. He really liked Perez Prado, Sergio Mendes and Buena Vista Social Club, but he wasn't very experienced. Mariah guided him through the steps and after practicing the basics for quite a few songs, they finally started to gel. As they swayed slowly together to _The Look of Love_ by Brasil '66, Mariah put her head on his shoulder and said, "You seem like you're finally starting to relax. Did you have a tough day at work?"

"Yeah, a little. My projects are going well, there's no worries there. It's more the people I work with."

"I saw on the news some of the controversy surrounding Oscorp. Is there… is there a chance that this treatment you're preparing for me won't work?" Her normally stoic voice betrayed anxiety.

"All of the evidence we have leads us to believe in a favourable outcome. It's office politics that are the problem. And because Oscorp is a huge multinational, the politics involve several powerful entities. But it's really nothing for us to worry about."

"Oh, I'm happiest when it's just the two of us here, isolated from the world! I wish the outside with all its greed and hate could never infiltrate into our secluded Eden, where we're free to be ignored and live and die as one! Promise me, Tom! Promise me that if this treatment is successful we will not become famous. I think that would make for the most tedious life, if we had to live in the public eye. Unwanted attention is such a prison! Living so close to death has opened my eyes as to what is most important in life. And life without the freedom to search for beauty and truth would be no life at all. Promise me, Tom, that we will remain nobody's that can just blend into a crowd and that you'll continue to look at me as you do now."

"I promise. I do. But promise me that you will continue to hum the sweet song of hope. It is far from being lost, and although we may not always understand how it will be, it is that which propels us forward."

"Oh kiss me, Tom! Kiss me like you did that first day when we watched the sun rise like a ruby." Tom happily complied, as they softly swayed in the moonlight.

The next morning, Rosie awoke and looked over at Tom, still asleep. She rolled over to face him and her movements caused him to stir, so she fully roused him with a kiss. He kissed her back, "Good morning, love."  
"Good morning. I love you too," she said, with a bashful smile. Tom's smile came from deep within his very being, fired by pure, unadulterated joy.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

That night, Dr. Julian Connors sat in his office, frowning as he was brought up to date with what had transpired in his absence. His personal assistant, Jonas Harrow was attempting to explain.

"So basically what you're telling me Jonas," growled Connors, "is that the matter of the Congressman was completely bungled! Honestly, I told you I wanted to take care of it myself. Now I have to deal with the FBI and their interminable questions."

"Look," said Harrow, his pacifying open hand attempting to reason with his, as of late, increasingly mercurial employer. "Don't worry about the FBI. They're obliged to question you because the newspaper report named Oscorp as a profiting party to the death of Congressman Warren. But they have absolutely nothing solid linking us to the murder."

"Yes but you told me, Jonas," Conners ranted, slamming his fist on his desk. "You told me that by making a deal with the Kingpin, he would take care of it and sew it up so tight that no one could even ask questions."

"I stand by that decision," said Harrow calmly. "Our discreet alliance with the Kingpin brings many advantages. And I am assured that they also take our association very seriously and that they had given this job to their top man. Only we weren't counting on this freak in the wrestling mask on showing up and making a mess of things."

"Ah, yes. Our human spider. What news on that front?"

"We had hired some local muscle to keep a tail on the reporter who originally photographed this guy. So he was led to surveille one Peter Parker, an alias. When he showed me photos of Parker, look at what we discovered." Harrow slid a photo over to Connors. "Recognize him?"

Connors betrayed some surprise. "Why it's young Jones, the intern! He's moonlighting as a reporter?"

"That's what we were wondering. Well wouldn't you know it, the thug we hired followed him to a meet with Warren just before he was killed. And guess who else just happened to be there?"

"The spider." Connors paused to process the implications. "So our young polymath has been experimenting on himself it would seem. Not that I stand fit to judge, but he has managed to complicate things."

"What do you want to do? Expose him? Make him disappear?"

"That would only serve to complicate matters further. No, we keep watching him. Only he's been playing his own little game. We must even the playing field somewhat." Connors grinned.

Eddie Brock sat on his stool in the lab in Oscorp, fidgeting with his fingers. This job just kept getting stranger, but he could not afford to be choosey these days. He owed big to some loan sharks, and he had recently fallen out with the Gamboni's, who were no longer interested in his services. He had been living with constantly looking over his shoulder for a while, and the stress was wearisome.

Finally, Dr. Connors walked in. "Ah, Mr. Brock, is it? What a pleasure to meet face to face. Now I have it on good information that you are an unfortunate man who is interested in opportunity. Am I mistaken?"

"No, I suppose not. But just what exactly are we talkin' here?"

"Patience, Mr. Brock, patience. Now we need you to keep trailing this reporter, Parker, but even more so we are greatly interested in this human spider. We have reason to believe that some of our confidential intellectual property has been misappropriated, and we risk losing a great deal. Now before we knew what we were dealing with, you were left at an unfair disadvantage. How would you feel if your natural skills were to be genetically enhanced, allowing you to enjoy much more success in the future? I feel it fair to warn you, Mr. Brock, that this type of offer does not come around more than once in a millennium. You would be remiss to pass it up, especially as it seems you have already made many powerful enemies."

"Yeah, okay. So what do I have to do?"

"Just sit in a chair, relax, think happy thoughts while you allow us to treat your deficient genetic code. It will be little more than an injection now, and perhaps monitoring your condition afterwards."

"What will happen to me?" Brock asked nervously, as Connors deftly injected him with the serum containing the retrovirus.

"We are setting you upon hunting a spider," said Connors elatedly. "So you too need to be a spider." Eddie Brock felt the room spin and he crashed to the floor as he blacked out.

Dr. Toby Auchmann worked tirelessly in his home office, failing to notice the late hour. His total absorption in his studies was interrupted by a knock at his door. "Come!" he commanded.

"I've brought those files you requested from Oscorp," his secretary informed him, entering the room with a heavy box.

"Thank you, Carolyn. Kindly put it over there with the others." He motioned to a growing pile of filing boxes in the corner of the room. "Get some rest now. The sun is already starting to come up, and I may need you to help some more in preparation for the shareholders meeting today."

A few moments passed before she returned. Doctor there is a group of your coworkers here to see you. Shall I show them in?"

"At this hour? Who is it?"

"Dr. Guy Kasady for one."

"Is he alone?"

"No, he has quite the group with him."

"Um, certainly, tell them to come in."

In short order, Toby's modest study was filled with seven more individuals, including Guy, Peter and five other scientists from Oscorp. "Sorry to barge in on you so early Toby," said Guy, shaking his hand. "Are we greatly inconveniencing you?"

"Not at all. My sleep has been fleeting this night. I've been obsessing over this due diligence for the Oscorp charity fund for regenerated organs and I've been trying to reconcile some discrepancies."

"I've always said you had the mind of a lawyer, Toby. You never let the details escape you."

"Well I certainly can thank my father for that. As an attorney his favourite adage was, 'The Devil is in the details.' Good morning, Peter. How are you?" He shook his hand as well.

"Yes I apologize for inviting such a large group to our tete-a-tete this morning, but each and every one of these people greatly respect you and begged me to be included if we were to create a strategy for the future. I think you know most of them. I present to you Dr. Spencer Smythe, Dr. Fred Foswell, Mr. Maxwell Dillon, engineer, Dr. Janice Lincoln and Dr. Martin Li."

"Yes we all have met on occasion. You all are welcome, as what I am in the process of unravelling concerns all of you as well. As I said, I've been trying to resolve inconsistencies in our accounts, and basically I've discovered that our worthy CEO has transferred to himself great financial powers of allocation. He has a new division, under the label of research and development, called Conjectural Analysis that is burning through money, but I can find no other paper trail of what exactly it does. I had my secretary bring in some more files that may be of some assistance. Perhaps you could help me sift through some of this evidence."

The eight of them began reading through files. After some time, Janice spoke up, "Here is something. Did you know that Oscorp owns a private island in the south Pacific? It's called Noble's Isle and it's supposedly being developed as an executive retreat with all the amenities. But how come we've never heard of it?"

"That reminds me of something," said Toby, shuffling through files and papers. "A huge purchase of industrial prime thermal cyclers, micropippeters and all the equipment to assemble many gel electrophoresis apparatuses were bought and shipped to Australia but there is no trail as where they went afterwards. That can't be a coincidence."

"So Connors has set up a lab?" said Peter.

"A secret lab," said Guy.

"Don't you see?" said Toby. "He's set up a secret island laboratory to run experiments and keep his test subjects! He's preparing to take this to the next level." Toby sat back in his chair. "He can't be allowed to continue," he said firmly.

"So we stop him," said Peter. "We can share this cover-up with the shareholders today and the authorities and they'll open an investigation."

"And how long will that take?" said Guy. "By the time anyone gets to that island, everything will be gone and Connors will have set up shop somewhere else. No, what Toby is saying is, we have to act. Today. The eight of us. Fate has chosen us to save the human race."

"Guy is right. Connors has to be stopped," declared Toby.

"So then this is it? I say to all of you, once we go down this road there is no turning back. Any one want to back out, leave now." Guy looked around the room. "Okay then, we are all in this together. How should we do it? Shall we shoot him?"

"I have a better idea that is a little more, er, elegant, with less risk of collateral victims. As you may or may not know," Toby walked over to a locked cupboard. "I served in Her Majesty's Army with the Paratroopers. I propose that we use these." Toby laid out an array of large British Paratrooper knives. "In this way we can be assured that only our intended target will be taken out."

"But what of Senator Baker?" asked Guy, getting excited. "Shouldn't we ask him to join us? I think he would want to be part of something so important."

"You're right he should be included," agreed Peter.

"He would certainly want that," nodded Martin.

"Him above all would give us legitimacy," put in Janice, "And he would help us with convincing both the public and the authorities that we were acting for the greater good."

"It's better if we don't add anyone that is not already in this room. The less the better, and indeed Baker is foremost a politician, and he won't support something unless it is his idea to take credit for," reasoned Toby.

"Then we'll leave him out," agreed Guy.

"Exactly right. He's not a good fit," added Peter.

"So is it only Connors that must be held responsible?" asked Max Dillon.

"That is an excellent point," charged Guy. "Surely Mark Iraklis is equally culpable in these crimes against humanity. And if we were to leave him unscathed, he will come after us. We should take him out as well."

"We are not in the business of murder," mollified Toby. "If we start killing every person that doesn't agree with us, then we are no better than every tyrant that has ever been born and we regress into the dark ages. We will sacrifice Connors for the greater good of humankind, but let us not become butchers, Guy. We will fight what Connors has become but not be vengeful about it. If we are to justify this before the world, (and the world will be watching us. Make no mistake.) Then we will demonstrate that we are protectors, not murderers. That we acted for the greater good, and everyman will understand that we sacrificed one man, instead of standing idly by while the future of our species was compromised beyond restoration."

"If we allow Iraklis to remain, then we'd better watch our backs," warned Guy. "He is fiercely loyal to Connors."

"It's okay, Dr. Kasady," soothed Toby. "Don't worry about him. If he is that committed to Connors' cause than he can try to defend him in the court of public opinion and crucify himself on the very same issue. In the end, he can die for Connors if would so choose, but when all is resolved, I think he'd rather be fishing, watching American football, or be drinking with his old army buddies."

"That's right, he's no real risk to our cause. Let him live and he can laugh that he wasn't more of a staunch believer in Connors' message," laughed Spencer.

Toby looked at his watch. "It is getting late."

"We should scatter for now," urged Spencer. "We don't want to raise suspicion."

"He will be expecting us to be all together today for the shareholders' meeting. We can approach him there and get it done. But I fear that with his health and emotional state becoming more erratic as of late, he may not come to speak before the shareholders. Increasingly he acts as though these duties were beneath him," fretted Guy.

"Don't worry about that," said Max Dillon. "I've been tasked with programming his agenda. If he balks at coming before the shareholders, then I will tell him he is right, for it will be a waste of his valuable time. I'll say to him, that the principal item on the agenda is simply to shower honour upon him for his scientific achievements, and because he detests such aimless flattery, he can invest his valuable time elsewhere. His ego being so coddled, he will agree in principal, being already extremely flattered, yet wanting it all the more. Leave it to me, and I will get him to the function theatre of the Four Seasons where the meeting will be held. You can count on it."

"No, it's better that we all be there to meet him," said Guy.

"Maybe we could meet him by the side entrance of the hotel," said Janice. "Fred has had his funding drastically reduced recently, and he could pretend to raise the issue privately."

"Then please go with him, Janice," said Toby. "Your presence will get Connors to drop his guard."

"The sun is rising," said Guy. "We'll leave you, Toby, and the rest of us will disperse and arrive separately at the hotel. And everyone remember to show yourselves to be defenders of freedom, both of thought and expression."

"And lets all do our best to act normal and friendly. We don't want to draw any undue attention until the moment arrives. For now I will bid you all good day and good luck."

Tom was stirred out of the sweetest slumber by the ringing of his phone. He begrudgingly reached over without raising his head off the pillow. He didn't want to answer it, but seeing the display indicated it was Gwen calling, he got out of bed to see what was the matter.

"Dr. Connors didn't come home last night."

"Oh? Is that an emergency?"

"His wife thinks so. He went out for a walk around 8:00 last night, and didn't return, and he's not answering his phone."

"Could it be that he's just caught up with work? Is he in his office?"

"Security does put him at the lab last night, but after that nobody knows what's happened to him. Look, I know it's probably nothing, but his wife is freaking out. She says that she has a terrible feeling that he's in great danger, and maybe I'm still suffering from jet-lag, but she has me half convinced."

"Okay, I'll look into it. I'll try to ping his phone to see if I can get an idea of where he went, and if it comes to it, I also have a police scanner."

"Thanks, I do appreciate it. Mark Iraklis has called in the help of this new guy, Augustus. I guess he has some pretty exceptional resources."

"Alright, I'll let you know." Tom started pulling on his clothes and wiping the sleep from his eyes. Practically as soon as he was off the phone with Gwen, his phone rang again. "Oh what fresh hell is this?" It was J.J. Jameson.

"Parker! The human spider has been spotted climbing the Chrysler Building, this time dressed all in black. But as usual he's endangering public safety and disturbing the peace, so I trust that you are there right now, getting me my exclusive photos? Well hang up the phone, idiot, and get them for me!" Click.

"Hello?" asked Tom, actually feeling like an idiot, not just because he was talking to a dial tone. "The human spider has been spotted? I'd better start my search by checking out the Chrysler building," he said, grabbing his Nacho Libre mask.

Wilson Fisk rose early, as was his custom, by sitting at his desk to review his stocks, investments, businesses, international activities, coups, and employees. He dressed himself in his typical formal attire, dismissing the two call girls from his apartment. Running a vast business empire that spanned several continents and that operated on both sides of the law was time consuming, but rewarding. Expecting to receive his breakfast, he permitted his henchman to enter the office. But he was not alone. "I'm very sorry for the intrusion, Mr. Fisk, but there's a Mr. Edward to see you, and he is most insistent." The man sounded quite scared.

Fisk's eyes narrowed, but then his eyebrows peaked with curiosity. "That's perfectly fine, Raul, show him in. Do I know you? Mr. Edwards, is it?"

A hunched over and sinister looking creature glided into Fisk's office. "No, we haven't as yet had the pleasure of meeting face to face, Mr. Fisk. Or shall we dispense with the formalities so that I may call you by your menacing _nom de guerre_? Kingpin." As he hissed the name, his breath came out as a malicious exhalation.

"Who are you?" Fisk demanded.

"We have had some business dealings, Mr. Fisk, but I'm afraid I am not a customer of the satisfied persuasion. Your man, the Punisher as he is known, botched the job he was contracted to do. If I simply wanted someone killed, I could have sent a homeless cretin to complete the task. I paid you with the understanding that the police would have no other evidence than to close the case as a robbery gone bad. I am of the understanding that you have sent out Aleksei Sytsevich to clean up the mess, but I would be remiss if I did not inform you that the police are currently fishing his remains out of the East River."

"I make it my business to not be in the dark on these sorts of matters. The only way you could possess this information would be if you…" Recognition dawned on Fisk. "Connors? Yes, you're Julian Connors! What has happened to you? If you'll excuse my indelicacy, you look deformed."

"I can assure you my good Kingpin, I am not malformed. On the contrary, even if I may appear to be dysmorphic, rest assured, I have the custodianship of the sum total of the greatest possibilities in the animal kingdom. And we, as collaborators, have a problem. The world is changing, and I need to be able to rely on you to get things done. If you demonstrate yourself to be sufficiently competent to the task, you will find yourself to be greatly enriched and empowered. But we can't permit any more blunders like what happened with the congressman, now can we?"

"That incident was indeed unfortunate and anomalous," said Fisk. "We have hired the Punisher for many, more complicated jobs in the past, and this is the first time he hasn't exceeded our expectations. Like you said, we are entering a brave, new world, so forgiving a bit of a learning curve would be reasonable, I should think. But you can be absolutely certain, Dr. Connors, that there exists no one who can pretend to be my equal, both in possession of the required tools and the proficiency to join forces with you to protect your business."

Meanwhile, Tom had climbed up the building and had been listening at the window with a stethoscope since Connors had arrived at the office. After listening to one bombshell after another, he was having difficulty clinging to the outside ledge of the skyscraper.

"Our mutual interests depend on you being able to back up these claims with results, Mr. Fisk. As you are undoubtedly aware, I am in the midst of implementing sweeping reforms to the governance structure, which will inevitably invite opposition. I will be counting on you to help me to forestall these efforts so that we both can reach our respective goals."

"Indeed that would be wise. If you can subdue your enemies without any fighting, than your skill as a leader will be unmistakably manifest for the world to see."

Connors smirked. "I'm glad we are of the same mind on these matters. This way our stratagems will be aligned."

"I heard how you've restructured the company to contain A class and B class shares. This practically puts you beyond the possibility of any likelihood of defeat."

"Precisely. Now Oscorp is a 'controlled' company, which will allow me the right to eschew independent directors and allows me to designate my successor, in the unlikelihood I meet an untimely demise."

"Your victory is assured if you have prepared yourself, especially if you catch your enemies off guard. If I may be so bold, who is your chosen, improbable successor?"

While his attention was focused on trying to not miss a word of this conversation between two villainous despots, he suddenly felt a chill run down his spine, followed by a small, black item flying past his head and adhering itself to the window. It took Tom a split second inspection of its shape and digital numbers to recognize that he needed to leap off that ledge, posthaste.

Tom jumped, just barely managing to stay out of the blast radius of the small adhesive bomb that blew the window off Fisk's office. Tom struggled to grasp the ledge of a floor three levels down, and he became aware of a drone flying overhead. As he saw the UCAV flying away a figure all in black came gliding through the open window, gun drawn. Tom, attempting to jump back up to the office to help defend from this well choreographed attack, felt something hit him on his back. Looking back, he saw what looked like a silky cable attached to him. "Is that… spider webbing?"

Tom was violently pulled down, and he thrashed and pulled back, trying to free himself of his unseen predator.

Tom grabbed on to one of the ledges, and bracing himself against the building, faced the direction of his opponent and pulled on the web strand with all his might. As a blackened figure came sailing towards him, Tom delivered a killer blow across the creatures face. The spider-like creature shook it off and while clinging to a rope of spider silk that hung down the building, he came swinging back up to Tom's level. Tom finally had the opportunity to look his assailant in the eye, and a crazed eye it was. While having the form of a man, the creature was sprouting greasy black hairs on his body. The spider silk that he secreted along with the fangs that dripped with venom served to detract from his humanlike appearance.

Meanwhile, the smoke was clearing in Fisk's office. Frank Castle came gliding in, after a successful jump from his UCAV. He rolled as he hit the floor and was on his feet, automatic rifle immediately at the ready. What was left of Fisk's security detail came barging in, and Castle calmly dispatched them. Fisk was hiding behind his desk, and Castle started circling, lining up the shot. A noise distracted him from the ceiling. He looked up just in time as a slithering figure leaped off the ceiling tiles and attacked him across the face, knocking his rifle out of his hands. Connors, having the upper hand, restrained Castle's arms and head butted him, dropping him to the ground. Fisk, braved a peak from behind the desk. Connors was facing him triumphantly as Fisk tried to warn him. Castle kicked Connors right between the shoulder blades, sending him flying across the room. By this time Fisk was up, clashing with Castle in close hand to hand combat. Fisk, for his girth, was surprisingly strong and agile, and was skilled in several martial arts techniques, while armed with his walking stick that had a weighted handle. Still, he was no match for Frank Castle, former Delta, and expert gong Fu fighter. Castle knocked Fisk to the ground, and was about to deliver the deathblow, when Tom came crashing into the office, followed by Venom. As Venom came up behind Castle, he sank his teeth into his shoulder, just below his neck. Castle was able to grab his assailant and throw him to the ground, before collapsing in a paralyzed heap. Venom then turned his wanton gaze towards Fisk, when Tom tackled him, and the two went tumbling out the window, knocking Venom onto a lower ledge.

Tom leaped to engage the venomous black spider in close quarters. The two exchanged blows while trying to put the other in a hold. Tom's original strategy of trying to knock him off the building was not working, while the other seemed to be trying to tie him with webbing so he could then inject him with venom. So Tom, adjusting his plan, dropped to a crouch on the ledge. As Venom encircled him with silk, Tom relied on his faster reflexes to keep his legs free and grab onto his attacker. He then jumped with all his might straight up, smashing Venom headfirst into the protruding ledge above them. He then leaped up with his cargo and swung into the open office window.

Tom, freeing himself, went over to see how Connors was faring, lying on the floor, trying to regain his senses. Tom looked back to see Venom rearing for another strike, when two, then three, colourful tranquilizer darts hit him in the neck. Venom reeled, and fell back unconscious. Tom looked to the doorway, to see Markus Vitaly holding a trank gun, shadowed by Gwen. They entered the room, holding their tranquillizer guns at the ready, while Harold Augustus fearfully followed in tow. Gwen swept the scene until she was convinced all immediate threats were neutralized. She then handed Harold a syringe, and said, "Here, inject Connors with this. I have the check out this latest mutation." She carefully walked over to Venom, while Harold gingerly looked for the best way to inject Connors.

"What is this thing?" Gwen crouched down by Venom, but looked up at Tom as she asked the question.

"He's a chimera, just like…" Tom's eyes dropped, but then they both looked towards Connors.

"Well he should be under control for now," she said. "Vitaly here was shooting tranquilizers, but mine were packed with chimera trait restriction serum, same as we injected into Connors." She looked back at Tom, and whispered, "I'm worried. I think he's getting out of control."

Tom looked around. Fisk was nowhere to be seen. "Let's get everyone back to the lab. We need to observe these two," he said, pointing at Venom and the unconscious Punisher. "And we should probably monitor Connors as well."

"But he has the shareholders meeting this afternoon," said Harold, almost in a whine. "Will he be in any shape to make his presentation? If he doesn't show, it could lead to speculation and destabilize confidence in the company."

Tom shrugged. "We'll see."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

As Tom and Markus Vitaly busied themselves securing their captives in the animal research facility in Oscorp labs, Tom tried to ignore the nagging questions that were plaguing him. Gwen voiced one. "Do you think we need to alert the authorities about this one?" she asked, pointing at Frank Castle. "He must be some sort of hired assassin."

"That could prove problematic," said Harold.

"He's right," agreed Tom. "He's currently paralyzed from some sort of chimera spider venom, and if we turned him in like this, it will just invite unwelcome questions for answers that we don't currently have. We should try to treat him and then decide what to do with him."

"Well then we have the next patient," said Gwen, pointing at the black, hairy spider man. "Let's see what we can learn from him, and maybe we can obtain some of those undesirable answers."

Tom injected the venomous creature with more of the chimera trait restriction serum, and they waited. In the meantime, they set Connors up in a proper bed and helped him to be comfortable. He was awake, but was taking the opportunity to rest. Tom and Gwen returned to the lab, to continue their tests of the most recent chimera, while Harold was left alone with Connors.

"Ah, Mr. Augustus, I am greatly indebted to you, sir, for the part you played in getting me out of that unfortunate situation. Now, as a man of the world and an investor in our shared enterprise, you no doubt agree that it is imperative that I am allowed to leave so that I may attend the shareholders' meeting. Would you be so kind as to help me out of bed?"

"It was the very least I could do, under the circumstances," said Harold, offering his arm to assist the patient to his feet. "And I agree that the importance of the shareholders' meeting can not be understated. But, you do seem to have suffered some form of malady or another. Are you sure you are up to it?"

"Nonsense, my dear boy," Connors waved away Harold's concerns. "I am stronger than I have ever been in my life. And don't downplay your role today in bringing that unfortunate meeting to a favourable conclusion. Without a doubt, I will require men of your calibre to take a leading role in this company, and to bring a great vision to fruition. A powerful, scientific community that leads the world in health care innovation: that is the goal. And we are reaching out and seizing what, only a few short years ago, was a dream. I believe that today, you demonstrated the stomach and the aptitude that is needed by the future leaders of this company, with just the right amount of brass." Connors smiled warmly, and patted Harold on the shoulder.

"Thank you, sir. That would please me greatly to have a place in the future of Oscorp."

"Well let us see to it that we face such a brave future together."

Tom and Gwen carefully analyzed any data they could take off their new specimen. As the serum took effect and the creature started to look more human, Tom couldn't help but feel that he looked familiar. "I'm going to wake him," he announced.

"Okay, if you think that's a good idea," said Gwen futilely, as Tom injected the patient with a stimulant. Tom retreated to the other side of the locked door, as he prepared to watch the creature from the safety of outside his cage. Soon, he began blinking his eyes.

"Where am I?" he asked hoarsely.

"Who are you?" asked Gwen.

"Aren't you that guy from the Daily Bugle?" asked Tom, starting to remember where he'd seen him. "Yeah, you're that other reporter who so 'graciously' gave me those photos. Were you spying on me, or something?"

"Ah, calm yourself down, you little pissant," grunted Eddie Brock. "Can I get some water in here, or what?"

"Listen, Eddie Brock, wasn't it? You need to start cooperating with us, and right now. You are in serious trouble."

"Yes, Mister Brock, listen to us," Gwen tried the soft touch. "You've been the victim of a cruel experiment, and we need as much information as you can give us if we are to be able to treat you."

"Treat me? Do I look like I need treatment to you? You can't understand the raw power that I feel when I'm not drugged like this. This is one experiment that has resulted in great success, and I'm not giving it up."

"You may feel that way now, Mr. Brock, but that could also be the effects of the foreign DNA, altering you psychologically. Don't you want us to restore you so you can return to living a wholesome life?"

"Hell no! I was a nobody before. But everyone is going to respect me now, let me tell you! I like being important, and I like being strong." He looked straight at them. "When I finally get out of here, I'm going to kill you. Both of you."

Tom looked at Gwen. "Well so much for reasoning with a mindless beast, though I'm not sure that we can put all the blame on the spider DNA. Something tells me that he wasn't playing with a full deck before this happened. Let's see what we can do for patient number two," he said, moving on to Frank Castle.

"So his breathing is less shallow than before, so that's good. I've been analyzing the venom that Brock secretes, and it is identical to the paralyzing venom produced by common spiders. It should, then, just temporarily paralyze the victim. I'm hoping that with some antidote, he will make a full recovery."

"Good, that leaves our other dilemmas," said Tom, looking up as Harold and Markus joined them in the lab. "What was Connors doing there, fighting like a lizard?"

"And what precisely, was he doing in the office of Wilson Fisk?" asked Harold.

"That's easy. Fisk is a political supporter of Oscorp," answered Gwen.

"But Fisk is not your average, run of the mill businessman," said Harold. "Judging by his level of security and powerful influence, it's suggestive of mob connections. I'm going to make some discreet inquiries."

"I guess we'll stay here and keep a lid on this situation for the time being," said Tom.

On the way to the shareholders' meeting, Connors received a call from Maxwell Dillon. "How are you Dr. Connors? A little bird told me that you were suffering a bit of the flu. Is that true?"

Connors scowled. "No, that is not true. You should know better, Mr. Dillon, than to pay heed to office gossip."

"I'm very sorry, sir. I promise it won't happen again sir. It's just that your wife was concerned."

"My wife was concerned? Was she indeed? Listen, and hear me well, Mr. Dillon. Leave the concerns of my family to me, sir. It is not in your job description to worry about them."

"You are right, of course, sir," said Dillon. "Then am I correct to conclude that you are going to be in attendance of the shareholders' meeting, sir?"

"If God wills, who is he that can stand against him?" grinned Connors.

Toby and his band of fellow scientists met up with Connors out in front of the hotel where they were hosting the shareholder's meeting. His personal assistant, Jonas Harrow was also there to greet them. Connors greeted them all cordially. Then he said, "Jonas, I hope you have your wits about you today, and you weren't up all night at some rave. This meeting should be a walk in the park, but our opposers grow many, while we have grown somewhat complacent."

Jonas responded, "Complacent is a little harsh. But you're right, we need to be ready for everything."

Connors proceeded to greet all of his Oscorp scientific colleagues. "Welcome Dr. Kasady. And Dr. Toby Auchmann, I didn't expect to see you here. Thank you for coming to support your coworkers. Good morning, Dr. Morgan, Dr. Smythe. I'm so elated to see all of you here. Now we may present our discoveries in the field of medicine as one united team, and show what one company, when properly motivated, can accomplish for the health and well being of humankind. Come, gentlemen. Let us make history, as one." Mark Iraklis walked into Connors' little motivational speech. "Oh, good, Mark. You made it. I was a little afraid that your date kept you up too late last night to support your scientific researchers today as they change the course of medical policy."

"Not at all, sir. Rest assured that this day is just as important to me, a most loyal supporter."

"Well then, in that case, I must be ready for my presentation. And look, we are also loyally supported by Drs. Li, Lincoln, and what? even Dr. Foswell. Well gentlemen, and ladies," he said, nodding to Janice Lincoln. "I have quite the hour of scientific edutainment prepared for you and our investors. I hope that you will feel afterwards that I have done you and your research credit by my presentation."

"There can be no doubt that we are fully behind you, Dr. Connors," lied Spencer Smythe, "and we will be loyally behind you in whatever endeavour." The others nodded, perhaps a bit too forcefully, in agreement.

Back at the lab, Tom was wrestling with a thought that kept plaguing him. Gwen seemed to notice that something was weighing on his mind despite their two prisoners. "Are you okay? If it's the death threat from that guy, don't worry about it. That would rattle anybody, but we should be able to contain him."

"It's not that. Well, not exactly. I'm more worried about myself."

"Well he should be worried about you, as well. He's fortunate you didn't kill him back there."

"That's just it, you see. I wanted to kill him. I really wanted to. I even tried, but, the thing is, I couldn't."

"You mean, you couldn't bring yourself to….?"

"Out there on the ledge at the top of the Chrysler Building, I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't pause for an ethical reflection of what was wrong or right. No, rather, I thought I could kill him by crushing him with all my strength against the building. So I tried, and I think, if this had happened last week, I would have succeeded."

Gwen's eyes widened. "Do you think you're feeling weaker because of exhaustion?" Tom shook his head. "Then you're probably right. The foreign DNA is being replaced out of your chromosomes with your human DNA. Because you didn't have the complete equation to create the retrovirus for your own serum did you?"

"No, and now I'm worried that I may have corrupted my RNA sequencing. Maybe it was a mistake that I actually used an adenovirus instead of a retrovirus, and I'm disappointed to be losing my enhanced abilities before I've successfully completed the operation for my patient. But better to return to being as I was, rather then end up some sort of mutation, I suppose."

"Let me try and examine you."

As they started analyzing the data and running different tests, Gwen acted like she needed to air a grievance, or at least a nagging thought that had started to plague her. "You always talk about working until you've completed your operation and research for your patient. Do you ever think about what you'll do afterwards?"

"I don't know," said Tom, his eyes staring down the microscope. "I guess I'll probably carry on as before."

"I'm not convinced that you will." Tom paused and looked at her. Gwen smiled shyly. "You have so much passion, so much conviction and determination now, while you're fighting to save someone's life. Someone you obviously care a lot about." Her voice got softer. "Once Mariah has recovered, will you stick around?"

"Yeah, sure, I think so," Tom said shrugging. "I'm sure there are lot's of people just like her, that need hope."

"There is no doubt about that. But will you be a part of the solution, or will you leave, having accomplished what you set out to do?"

"Where is this coming from?"

"It's just that, my aspirations aren't so easily achieved. So do you care enough about me, or our partnership, to fight to help me make a difference, once you've done what you set out to do?"

Tom frowned at first, but his expression softened when he looked at Gwen. "Hey, I'd say I owe you at least that much, partner." He gave her a gentle punch in the shoulder that although painless she still said 'Ow!' and punched him back, but harder. "And I believe that your goals are important for the world. I'll do my best to see them through." Gwen smiled.

As the conspiring scientists continued to put their plans into motion, they took their places in the meeting room of the hotel where the event was taking place. Toby nodded to Spencer, who then went to approach Mark Iraklis. Toby watched breathlessly along with the others to see if Spencer would be successful in distracting Iraklis. The two of them spoke in hushed tones as Spencer gestured towards the entrance of the hotel. The plan was to tell Iraklis that he was needed to address an issue raised by a small protest that had formed in front of the hotel. One of the items on the agenda addressed the manufacture by Oscorp of components that were often used to construct land mines. The conspirators had decided to exploit the publicity and controversy over this issue to further their scheme.

As they watched carefully to see if their first stage of their plan would find success, their patience was soon rewarded as Spencer and Iraklis left the meeting room to go to the entrance of the hotel, just as the meeting moved on to the proposal on the agenda on whether to eliminate this production or not. At this point, Maxwell Dillon spoke up at the meeting and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is a very important ethical and humanitarian issue. First, I firmly believe that you should be allowed to listen to Dr. Janice Lincoln, who has prepared a fine presentation on the factors involved, and thus you can make an informed decision whether to launch a protest vote."

Toby looked at Connors' face, searching for any sign of suspicion. He could see the outlines of a frown beginning to form, but as the seven of them rose from their seats to help Janice with her supposed presentation, Connors visibly tried to put on a blank face, and perhaps only appeared a little surprised. "So far, so good," Toby murmured.

Martin Li gave Peter a gentle shove to stand in front of him in the line that had formed in the aisle as the little group approached the front where the executives and the CEO sat. At this point, Connors spoke, "Are all of you ready for this presentation?" He asked the audience. "I'm a little surprised that so many of you have taken such a personal interest in this aspect of our company. But I suppose that different people hold different things precious. And I value the fact that you can present your ideas and values to us, this body of individuals. And so thus, we can compare and receive all the pertinent information with welcome eyes and use everything according to its value."

"May I begin by saying," Janice began, "that although we are a corporate entity, we are still a company of human beings that belong to the human race. And at this moment, I believe that the world's highest economic need is higher ethical standards - standards enforced by strict laws and upheld by responsible business leaders. And as scientists and engineers, we must consider the ethical implications of our work."

"Now if I may interject here Dr. Lincoln," interrupted Connors. "Let us be clear that we have not tabled for this meeting the issue of production of weapons, but rather, we are discussing the production of components that in turn, could possibly be used to produce land mines. Let us be sure that we do not muddle the issue under consideration. And while it is true that we produce these components, they have many other practical, non-lethal uses. While I respect your opinion, we don't want to over inflate our responsibility in this field."

"But if I may say so, Dr. Connors, it would be absurd to not take responsibility and blame the external circumstances, while we make ourselves responsible for any noble and pleasant consequences of our research and products," argued Janice. "How can we take credit for such wonderful accomplishments and proclaim to the world our virtuous mission statement as a company, while we at the same time proclaim that these more base exploits are not our fault? This argument is illogical."

"While I concede this point, that it is not the gun that kills, but rather a tool in the killer's hand," Toby reasoned. "It would be a denial of justice not to stretch out a helping hand to the poor and the helpless that are suffering because of something that we are aiding in the production of. The offering of relief is the common right of humanity, something that is within our power to do. He who spares the wicked, injures the good."

Connors, who looked like he had allowed his mind to drift, suddenly pricked up his ears. "Excuse me, Dr. Auchmann, but what did you just say?"

"We are demanding justice!" Guy entered into the discussion. "Justice is a contract of expediency, entered upon to prevent men harming or being harmed."

"You would have me thoroughly convinced," said Connors. "If I didn't begin to feel like the substance of your argument had begun to drift somewhat. I sense a palpable, politically motivated, underlying subtext in your reasoning, and hence I implore you to speak plainly, sirs and madam. Your accusations that this company sacrifices their values and upright morals for profit are simply untrue. But that is not what lies at the base of your convictions, now is it? You are attempting to call into question something more fundamental about our company, or to be precise, about me. What is it? What could it be?" Connors eyes bored holes into the frightened faces of each of the conspirators. "I believe that you are in fact, calling into question our research and development in the medical field. Specifically the field of trangenics, I suspect. Well it was a specious appearance that you have put on to raise these issues here today. But now that our cards are out on the table, why don't we address this little difference of opinion? If I were a man of weaker convictions you might have been able to sway me in my stance of where the future of medicine will take us. But as it is, a firm 'no' that arises from an article of faith is better than a 'yes' merely offered up to please and score political points, or worse still, to avoid confrontation. As it is, I am in a position of power in that I am authorized to perform qualitative work with my quantitative passion. I back this up with my compelling convictions and guide it by a propelling purpose, with a denouement that fulfills a divine destiny. Without question, that is power! And may I remind you that this is only just the beginning!"

"But Dr. Connors…" stammered a terrifying looking Martin.

"Do not be afraid, Dr. Li," Connors voice boomed. "But if you are seeking to confront fate, remember that it is a gift that cannot be taken from those to whom it is bequeathed."

"Please, Dr. Connors, sir…" Maxwell Dillon advanced a little closer to the CEO, with the others close behind.

"Well, Mr. Dillon? Do you confess to your ulterior motive before this assembly, along with your colleagues?" insisted Connors. The conspirators started to crowd Connors, causing him to take a step backwards. He held out his hand for them to stay where they were, and then motioned to turn and put some more distance between them. At that, Dillon grabbed hold of the collar of Connors' suit jacket, and pulling hard, he ripped it, causing a gasp to come from the disconcerted audience.

Connors turned around slowly, and with eyes burning with rage shouted, "Why, this is getting rather violent, sir!"

As if to confirm that statement, Peter produced his knife and lunging at Connors, attempted to stab him in the neck. Dodging the blow, Connors rapidly turned fully around and seized Peter by the arm, almost lifting him off the ground. "Peter, you villainous scum! What are you doing?" he cried. Connors welcomed the warm embrace of his reptilian disposition overtaking his namarupa, or physiological being.

Peter, whose arm was being crushed in Connors vice-like grip screamed, "Somebody help me, for Christ's sake!" The terror flew out of his mouth as spittle from his lips.

For what was in reality a passing moment, but that felt like ages, the group hesitated, losing their nerve. That is, until Toby darted forward and behind Connors. Connors batted Toby away like a fly. As Toby lay on the ground, facing the Chimera, Connors reached with his arm to touch what felt like a slight pinch in his shoulder only to find a discharged syringe stabbing him. He looked down on Toby as his eyes filled with realization, that he had been injected with the chimera trait reduction serum. Connors hands dropped to their sides in resignation, sending Peter crashing to the floor. As Connors' face took on a look of passive acceptance and while the rest of the group drew their weapons to swarm in for the kill, Connors maintained his despondent gaze on Toby.

After the first few stabs found their bloody marks, Connors did attempt to get away, possibly more out of instinct than reason. But as soon as he turned to flee, blood flowed into his eyes and he tripped and fell, as all of them, including Toby, continued stabbing him as he lay defenceless at the front of the meeting room.

The deed done, only then did the conspirators turn to see that all of the shareholders had fled in terror, as they had been deafened to their screams by the sound of their own hearts pounding in their ears.

They paused to stare at one another, adrenaline still pumping through their veins. Martin spoke first, "We did it. We've protected the human genome from mutation." His lips quivered so violently he could barely get the words out.

Guy motioned with his bloody hand towards him. "You're right. And we need to get our story out there as soon as possible. We need to explain that we did this out of moral duty to our country and to the human race."

Toby spoke with calm reassurance. "Don't be afraid, my friends. Don't run away either, but rather, we need to cooperate with the authorities and the investigation. We'll turn ourselves in and tell our story. That by our valiant actions, universal destruction resulting from reckless ambition has been prevented."

Peter spoke up, "You should call a press conference, Toby, before we're arrested."

"Guy should speak in our defence as well," said Dillon.

"Where's Janice?" asked Toby.

"She's here. She's pretty shaken up," said Martin.

Janice swallowed hard and tried to slow down her breathing. "I'm okay. But we need to stick together. Otherwise some friend of Connors is going to come after us."

"Don't worry about it, Janice. We'll be okay. No one is threatening us, nor will they. We often suffer more in imagination than in reality. But the reality is that injustice never rules forever. He would have been stopped, if not by us, than by someone else in the near future," soothed Toby.

"But we should get her someplace more secure," said Guy. "Just in case things get a little rowdy in here. At least until everything is calm."

Spencer came running into the room. "Where's Iraklis?" asked Guy.

"He took off. When he heard the panic, he hightailed it out of here. And you should have seen the stampede that went through the hotel into the street. Everyone was screaming and running as if it were doomsday," said Spencer.

"Gentlemen, may I complement all of you on your bravery today. And your readiness to stand up to evil will long be remembered. Fate leads the willing, and drags along the unwilling. It takes a whole life to learn how to live, but we have proven that if we accomplish nothing more in this life, we have already learned how to die," said Toby.

"Death is no concern of ours," said Guy. "For as long as we continue to breathe, it means death has not yet arrived. And when it does come, it still will not concern us because we will no longer exist."

"It's true. No one knows whether death may not be the greatest of all blessings for a man, so then we are counted among Connors' true friends to have freed him from this fear and monstrosity that had overtaken him. But our time is not yet. Let us continue to maximize our time that we have, and declare to the world, ' _sic semper tyrannis_!' We will prove our case of necessity and justifiable homicide, first in the court of public opinion, and if it comes to it, in the justice system of this country."

"Well, shall we go?" asked Dillon.

"By all means, then, let us be off. Toby has the head of a lawyer, and the heart of a soldier. Let us all follow his lead, with our hearts filled with pride and magnanimity for our fellow Americans," concluded Guy.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Tom was playing on his phone, passing the time while Gwen ran a test in the lab, when Mark Iraklis burst in. "Hey Mark. How did the shareholders' meeting go?" asked Tom, without looking up from his game.

Gwen immediately saw the wild look of terror in Iraklis' eyes and grew concerned. "Mark. What's wrong? What happened?"

Iraklis collapsed in a chair, weary from exhaustion and grief. "Connors is dead. They… they killed him."

"What?" Gwen looked like she was going to pass out.

"Who did? Somebody murdered him?" asked Tom.

"They all were in on it. All of them." Iraklis gestured to the empty lab, with it's vacant desks and study areas, referring to the absent occupiers. "These butchers who claim to believe in right and wrong, and preach that they worship at the altar of science for the good of humanity. Well this cruel deed comes from ignorance just like all other evil. If they felt that they had some virtuous motive, by acting on it they have perpetuated evil just as much or more than whatever it was they felt they were fighting."

Tom and Gwen just stood where they were in a state of shock. "What should we do?" asked Tom finally.

"They killed Julian because they don't agree with crossing humans with animal DNA," said Gwen slowly. Then she looked at Tom. "They'll come here next, to try and shut us down."

"Come here? Surely they'll be arrested for murder!" said Tom.

"No. Gwen's right," said Iraklis. "This was all very orchestrated. They have a plan, and I'm guessing they have a way to stay out of prison and influence the company."

"Billy Baker!" Tom blurted. Both Gwen and Iraklis looked at him quizzically. "The senator who was just voted onto the board of directors is a supporter of Toby and Guy and their beliefs. I'm sure he'll be campaigning for these traitors. And you're right. He'll be coming after us and our research programs next."

"You guys are onto something," said Iraklis. "But I'll be damned if I start taking orders from this group of self-righteous murderers. And I especially hate Billy Baker. That guy gives me a serious rash. I suggest to you that you start copying and backing up your data off campus. Don't worry if it's protected or classified. And try to protect any other projects that you're working on. I'm going to do my thing and securely control the Oscorp 'war chest.' I'd also better boost security around here."

"We're on it," said Gwen, sliding over to her computer. "Good luck on your end."

Soon all the conspirators, or as they started calling themselves, 'the Liberators,' were free on bail. Their lawyer, along with the impassioned support of Senator Baker, ensured their release, and things were looking positive for a complete acquittal for justifiable homicide. Their lawyer was arguing the necessity defence, that Connors and his unwieldy research posed an imminent threat to his fellow scientists and humanity at large. People were starting to believe it. But the Liberators were also scrambling to secure their position in Oscorp and their case, which would go to trial later that year. Iraklis, in a seemingly magnanimous gesture, had offered to maintain their positions in the company, if they agreed to maintain all of Connors' policies. It was an advantageous compromise for both sides, with the both of them scheming to starve out the other. For the time being, this protected Tom's project, with the conspirators not being in a position to negotiate any more influence for the time being.

But Mariah was feeling anxious about all the turmoil in the company, and the disturbing events that had taken place, directly relating to her procedure. Tom rushed over to her place to try and reassure her. But it wasn't easy. "Are you sure that we can still go through with this?" she kept asking. "You're positive? Because I heard a statement on the news from the lawyers of the scientists that killed your boss, and they're maintaining that they were justified in this murder because these procedures using animal DNA are wrong! That's what they said! They're saying that it is a crime against nature, and thus they were obligated to take the life of one man."

"They're just saying that because their necks are in the noose," Tom tried to stay calm, but Mariah was starting to get pretty upset. "These guys committed first degree murder, and should be facing the death penalty, so now they'll say anything to try to get off."

"Yeah but even if it were as simple as that. People are listening to them, Tom. They have some pretty well reasoned points. Now even I'm starting to doubt whether I should go through with it."

"But that would be a death sentence for _you._ " Tom eyes started to well up. "You don't mean that."

"I don't want my life to end the future of the human race. How would I live with myself?" Mariah looked Tom in the eyes. "And even so, it seems to me that the government will get involved and shut down my treatment anyway."

"It hasn't come to that. We're still in control and I'll make sure that your procedure goes through." Tom went to touch her hand, but she pulled away.

Mariah stared out the window. "That's just it. That's your problem, Tom. You have to accept that there are things beyond your control. I did." She looked at him with tears rolling down her face. "Why did I let you convince me that there was hope? I had already prepared myself for my death. I figured, it won't be that bad, you know?" She sniffed and wiped her face. "Death is coming for all of us, no matter what. So he'll pick me up a trifle bit sooner than some others, so what? We're all going to spend eternity like that anyway. At least death brings an end to the pain. To the suffering."

Tom's heart was growing heavy and he struggled to find the words he wanted to say. "But death is not a friend, Mariah. It's an enemy."

"An enemy that always wins. I'm guessing that it's not that bad, like I said. Death brings peace. And as God gives us this life, with all of it's problems, he eventually allows us to die. That's my right, the liberty that God ultimately bestows on all of his creatures, rich or poor, believer or unbeliever, we're all the same in the end. We all end up forgotten."

"I don't believe you," said Tom, starting to cry. "You talk like you think that death is this kind gentleman, and that you welcome him. But you can't believe that!"

"Why not?" Mariah screamed.

"Because it can't be true, and you know it! Death is a traitor, to all of us. A cruel seducer who would like to take us even before we are ready to let go. Before we've grown weary of this life."

"Well, I am ready. Or at least I was…" Mariah broke down in sobs.

"Well I'm not!" said Tom fervently. "I can't let you go, Mariah. Not yet." They sat for a while, exhausted and in a mournful silence.

Finally Mariah spoke. "Well you're going to have to let me go, eventually whether you want to or not." Mariah turned her back to Tom, like she couldn't bear to look at him. "Please leave me alone now. If I'm going to prepare to face the sunset, I need time to myself." Tom opened his mouth to protest, but she held up her hand. "Please, I'm weary and I can't do this anymore. If you have affection for me, as you claim to, then you must go."

"I'll go, but I won't rest unless I've done all I can do for you. I would rather die myself than give up on you."

Mariah turned around. "And I believe you would, too. But death will not bring us together, Tom. If you were to die, I could not go on living. And when I die, I don't want you to be there because you would need to shut down my gaze. But you can't let me go, and I can't bear to think about that. So please, let me say good-bye."

Tom swallowed hard. "I'll go, if it should please you, but first let me hug you with all my strength." Tom embraced her and kissed her on the top of her head as she hugged him back.

"Okay. Go. Go," Mariah whispered, gently touching his chest with an outstretched hand. Tom had to fight against every fibre of his body to let her go, but finally he left her house with great sorrow.

Mark Iraklis was really starting to feel the pressure from both the board of directors and the remaining shareholders to keep Oscorp's stock from further plunging in a free fall. In an attempt to bring some stability to the company, he conceded that one of his oldest rivals, Nicholas Powell, be instated to work with him while Iraklis basically served as interim CEO. Connors had promised Powell an executive position, but because this was met by vehement opposition from Iraklis, Connors had postponed giving him a clear position. Now Iraklis needed to make compromises, which included being benevolent with his former opponents in order to strengthen his position. He rewarded the shareholders who didn't sell out by convincing the board to give out cash dividends based on the considerable profits of the previous year. He made another public relations concession that rankled the ire of many tried and true Connors supporters, the foremost being Tom.

Tom came barging into his office. "What the hell, Mark? After all you said about protecting our research and our projects, you go and put a freeze on anything related to cross species genetics. Is this how you honour Connors' legacy? I won't allow it!" Iraklis wasn't able to get a word in, but he just kept moving out his hands in a placatory motion.

"Look, Tom. I'm sorry I couldn't run this past you before the memo went out, but you have to understand that this is better in the long run. The controversy surrounding animal-human hybrids is the principal part in the conspirators defence. By taking that off the table," he held up is finger, "momentarily, we've basically taken away most of their bargaining chips. We had to prevent them from tearing apart the company, which would lead to the federal government coming in and then shutting it all down anyway, or worse," his voice took on a hushed tone, "expropriating the technology for their own military use."

"But how long will this 'momentary' halt on my project be?"

"I'd say no longer than, um, six months."

"Six months? My patient has one month at best. I'm already playing with borrowed time here, Mark. Come on, you have to just make this one exception. This is someone's life we're talking about here!"

Iraklis pursed his lips and slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry, Tom, but exceptions become the rule. And if we lose the technology now, think of all the people that will die in the coming years. We can't take that risk."

"You mean, _you_ can't! Or you just won't!" Tom spat, and he stormed out.

Gwen was waiting just outside the door. She came running after Tom, who was seriously charged up. He walked at top speed until he was outside the building, and she had to run to keep up with him, not being able to get him to stop until they were by the fountain near the street. "Tom! Tom, I'm so sorry."

Tom's hands were shaking. "I promised her this wouldn't happen. She foresaw this as a possibility, and I promised her." Tom rubbed his eyes with his palms.

"Hey, listen to me." Gwen lightly patted his back. "We'll figure something out. We always do." Her phone buzzed. Reading the text message, she said, "Well this is an interesting development. Let's go see your friend Harold Augustus."

"Why? What can he do?"

"Connors' succession plan was just announced, which as you know, was binding. He didn't name Iraklis. Instead, he selected Augustus to be his successor as CEO." Gwen stared in wonder. "Why don't we try and talk to him?"

They found Harold Augustus at his desk in the offices of the New York branch of CosmoNav, a company that Harold ran that produced space tech. Tom and Gwen congratulated him on his recommendation from Connors himself, and Harold received them very graciously. He seemed, at least to Tom, particularly taken with having Gwen there. But after indulgently listening to their concerns, he got to the nub of the problem. "Well technically I am Connors' chosen successor, but Mark Iraklis keeps producing legal cause to postpone my actual inauguration as CEO, or at least as co-chair. I would welcome guidance from some of the long-timers there at Oscorp, although of course I am no stranger to running a company. Oscorp is just a little bigger, that's all. You know that Mark Iraklis was a Judge Advocate General in the US navy before he became a businessman? He thinks like a lawyer, and always tries to cover all the angles. But I have a sense that he's losing ground with the board. Many of the board members, especially that Senator Baker, don't trust him. If he keeps holding out from giving me what's legally mine, I'll have no choice but to sue him."

"He thinks, because he is lawyer, he'll ween eef we go to court. He weel try force us to accept settlement, but we weel not," said Mischa Vitaly.

"When we go to court, I have one more trick up my sleeve that will firmly establish my status as heir to this company," said Harold. "So don't panic. My lawyers will be meeting with his later this week."

"Well, I think that gave us some more hope," Gwen said, after they had left CosmoNav's offices.

"I don't know. It seems like a lot of people could die before all these lawyers get their stuff together."

"You know, I was really hoping that Connors would appoint you his successor," said Gwen quietly.

"Me? Really?" Tom laughed, for what seemed like the first time in ages. "That's hilarious. Why would you even think that was a possibility?"

"Why not? Sometimes you don't give yourself enough credit, Tom Jones. You were the one who figured out the decay rate algorithm. You were also pursuing with more passion the innovations that Julian felt so strongly about. You were helping him regrow his arm, for heaven's sake! I thought out of gratitude and after seeing your potential, he would have named you." Gwen looked down.

"That's all true," said Tom. "But I'm sure Dr. Connors recognized that I'm not cut out for all the business decisions and the political intrigue. I just love the science, and I wanted to help people."

"Yeah, I guess you always had me to help you negotiate the intrigue up until now," laughed Gwen.

Tom smiled, but then his face took on a more serious aspect. "So then, what do you think is this big trick that Harold has up his sleeve? It sounds ominous. I mean, I like the guy, but I sure as hell wouldn't want to get on his bad side. He gives me that feeling like he knows how to manipulate things to always get what he wants." Gwen nodded.

They went back to their Oscorp dorm rooms and flipped on the TV. Mark Iraklis was holding a press conference to discuss this new development of Augustus being named successor. Senator Baker and Guy Kasady had opposed the announcement be made by Iraklis, but Toby had convinced them to allow it as a sign of good faith. He and the rest of the conspirators were still trying to solidify their positions in the company. The board acquiesced, but warned Mark Iraklis that under no circumstance would he use the press conference for grandstanding. So his press conference started off uneventful enough. In the beginning, he simply announced Connors' plan of succession.

He began, "This is our moment when we conclude a somewhat controversial chapter in Oscorp, but auspiciously that signifies the beginning of a brighter one. I'm not here to glorify Dr. Julian Connors, just to explain his legally binding wishes that will guide this company for the next quarter. We recognize that now that he is gone, in reality Dr. Connors' vision will be laid to rest, for there is no reality except in action. His was a legacy that binds us together, but now we must move on. The honourable Dr. Auchmann, or Doc Ock as he is affectionately known, has shown us the light. So while we will respect Dr. Connors' wishes in the running of this company, we have had to make some very difficult self-examinations of the morality of some of our research. Dr. Auchmann has maintained that it was the height of arrogance to change the human genome and to create animal-human hybrids, and it's true, business people need to avoid any appearance of arrogance these days, in these economically uncertain times. Those of us in the medical community strive to embrace our humanity, and that is the quality that should stop one from being arrogant, as Dr. Connors was stopped so acrimoniously. I speak to you of the legacy and future of Oscorp under permission from Dr. Auchmann and his associates, as well as the Board of Directors, for all of them are ethical and highly principled individuals. That's why they chose this profession of biological medicine. But I first disclose that Dr. Julian Connors was a friend. He always treated me fairly. And Dr. Auchmann maintains that he arrogantly overstepped the ethical guidelines for human dignity, and surely we can trust the righteous, moral authority of Dr. Auchmann. Perhaps you were aware that Dr. Connors served his country in Afghanistan, where he was awarded the Royal Red Cross and the George Cross for bravery. On one occasion, he succeeded in dragging out four of his comrades under enemy fire, and he paid for this courage with the loss of his arm. That loss inspired him to seek a solution to help all who are missing limbs, or who suffer from defective organs. Is that arrogance? Yet Dr. Auchmann accuses him of immodesty, of not recognizing his limitations, for Dr. Auchmann is a highly principled man. I bring this up these things, not to raise disputes against what Dr. Auchmann and his associates have said, to air our dirty laundry as it were. But rather, I say these things to explain how I remember the man. They say you die once when you breathe your last, and then again when your name is spoken for the last time. I could not bear the grave injustice of allowing the final expressions of Dr. Connors name to be spoken with such malignant contempt, which would conceal his exceptional humanity behind a cold-blooded veneer. He was greatly admired and dare I say loved, and not without reason. So what reason could there be to vilify him so and not mourn his passing? I understand that human reason has its boundaries, and I dare not call other people cold, when in reality they are just sad, as I am."

"Wow, he's really laying it on thick," said Tom. "What's his angle?"

"I suppose it's possible that he is grieving," said Gwen, as Tom looked at her incredulously.

"Here at Oscorp, Dr. Julian Connors promoted a dream. He envisioned a world with superior medical care that would be available, not only to the rich and privileged, but to all the world's citizens. He led the way in building a company that promoted innovation and positive action, and I am not here to pass judgement on this act that was committed, for they were very principled men who carried it out, only to remark on how they repaid his vision. Visionaries are invariably misunderstood in their own time, but future generations give thanks and pass judgement on their contemporaries. So I ask you, friends, how will history judge us? Will we go down in history to be counted among the witch trials, book burnings and inquisitions that so often have sought to stifle great progress? Will we be judged as heartless ingrates who lived in the shadow of a prescient genius? Indeed, I speak of ingratitude and jealousy, for what else would motivate the delivery of death in the form of twenty-three stab wounds? Surely ingratitude is the essence of vileness, so that when the gentle doctor saw those he counted to be his friends were actually amongst his haters, the shock of ingratitude defeated him, so that he did not fight back. He fell broken-hearted, blinded by blood and regret, and left a scathing indictment on our society that could not tolerate his brilliance.

"Now don't let me stir up controversy with this statement, I only seek to explain the direction that our company and our country will be going. As I have mentioned, the people responsible for this deed acted out of ethical convictions. What private motivations moved each individual, is for God alone to know. But we know that these are going to be the intellectual leaders of tomorrow. And I would not pretend to be the deliverer of impassioned speeches, as our friend Dr. Auchmann is. I was but a humble soldier who speaks plainly. I am not even a scientist, like these learned men. But I ask you this: Do you want to live in a world where our brightest lights are forced to dim themselves or risk being extinguished all together?"

Mark Iralkis' speech served its purpose. The group of conspirators started receiving death threats that culminated in someone at Oscorp smearing their desks with animal blood and organs. In response to this incident, Iraklis secured permission from the DA's office to transfer them to branch offices in other countries, ostensibly 'for their own safety.' Toby and Guy were originally assigned the task of overseeing the implementation of Oscorp's charity causes in Africa, but they rejected it, citing both dangerous working conditions and potential isolation from headquarters in New York. Instead, they went to oversee the lab offices in Australia.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Oscorp didn't have to wait long to be rocked by another disclosure. Iraklis was hoping to win the support of the board by opposing further research into transgenics, but he was losing support amongst Connors' supporters.

Then Harold dropped the bombshell. He announced in a press release that he was embracing the name of his father, as he had just legally inherited all of his father's assets. He would henceforth be known as Harold Osborne, as he was Norman Osborne's illegitimate son, who had grown up in Russia. Many were shocked, but now that he possessed all of his father's shares and holdings, when they were incorporated along with what he stood to inherit from Connors, he would be the single largest shareholder at Oscorp. This greatly influenced his position amongst the Board, where Iraklis was increasingly losing popularity. As Iraklis' opposers grew, he then found himself in an awkward position. If he were to renege on his compromise amongst the Liberators in allowing them to retain their positions in the company, he risked alienating the board entirely, where Baker was influential in his position that they were virtuously justified in the action that they took. But if Iraklis continued to maintain his support for his concessions of the Board, especially with the freeze on hybrid research, he was losing traction with his claim on Connors' legacy to Harold.

He continued to wield a lot of power as President, but he ended up losing his case in court against Harold and was forced to handover all of the official CEO responsibilities and authority, while at the same time he was losing support amongst the shareholders as well.

Then Baker tried to put the final nail in the coffin on Ocsorp's research into animal-human hybrids. He proposed that maintaining the experiments and partial organs in the lab, they ran the risk of these falling into the wrong hands. Thus, he said, all research was to be liquidated immediately. Now Tom felt compelled to act without delay.

That night, wearing his Nacho Libre outfit, Tom was scaling the walls of Oscorp labs to break in from the roof where there was less security. Unfortunately, he didn't count on the board of directors hiring a private army to guard the lab to prevent exactly what Tom was trying to do. Tom was able to sneak past most of them by crawling along the rafters (the last place a guard would think to look), and by jumping across bigger rooms in a single leap. When he got to the bottom floor where the lab was located that contained the organs they were growing, Tom was forced to take a more confrontational approach. There, he faced two big men dressed in black and brandishing automatic weapons, standing right in front of the door. Tom was able to sneak behind the first one and muffling his face with a thick sweater he found in the coat room, he in one motion pulled the guy down and punched him with all his might across the jaw, knocking him unconscious. Unfortunately the other guy noticed something was off and approached to investigate. With his gun raised, he called, "Kyle, hey Kyle. What's your status?"

Tom moved quickly. As the guard strained to see in the dark, Tom came sliding along the floor at lightning speed until he was directly under the other guy, then he jumped with as much force as he could, clocking the guy under the chin with his own gun. He made a bit of a clatter, and the man's jaw slamming shut made a dull click before he slumped to the floor. Tom just hoped it wasn't loud enough to bring the rest of the guards on top of him.

"Impressive, but not even you will be able to get out of here with whatever it is that you're stealing." A voice with a soft Texan accent came through the darkness. "They'll figure out that you're here in about two minutes. Then they'll seal off this floor, create a kill box as your only escape route, and it will be game over for you."

Tom realized that he was talking to the hired assassin, the man he had learned was named Frank Castle. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Perhaps we could strike up a deal. Break me out of here, and I'll keep you alive so that you can walk out of here too."

"Why should I trust you?" asked Tom, sceptically.

"When I worked as a sniper, sometimes I'd observe my targets for hours, even days. It might seem like you're more distant, but because of this careful observation it can be very personal, even intimate," Castle said. "I had you in my scope, not because you were my target but because you had your own battles you were fighting, and I can tell that you're a good man. I've killed a lot of people in my time, and I know every person that I've killed was evil, in one way or another. I had a good cause on every shot. They all deserved to die. You on the other hand, do not." He spoke with a simple sincerity that was somewhat convincing.

"What are my odds of getting out of here alone?"

"Simply not good. These new executives here have hired an army of private security contractors. All Blackwater types. I know because I've worked for Blackwater in the past. Now it's called something else. New name, but the same players. So I realize that we have different agendas, but we both want out of here. What do you say?"

Tom thought about it quickly but knew that he was running short on time, and more importantly, so was Mariah. Without a further thought, he had Castle's cage open and a split second later, the big man was out and running around the room. He went to one of the unconscious guards and proceeded to strip him of his weapons. Tom meanwhile went into the lab to gently place the heart valves into a special cooler for transporting organs. When Tom came back to the room where Castle was waiting, he found him all suited up and ready to go. "What if you have to kill one of these guards for us to escape? That doesn't go against your 'code?'" Tom asked.

"Everyone of these guys are savages who kill for money," Castle grimly replied. "Killing them won't bother me in the least."

As it was, Castle did kill a few of the guards. Some he silently incapacitated by knocking them unconscious, but others he killed to prevent them making a sound. When they got so close that the entrance was within sight, the alarm was sounded and they got into a firefight with the remaining guards. They were all trained killers, but Castle was trained in Special Forces and knew how to get out of sticky situations. He launched a grenade that took out a few attackers, and then before the smoke cleared, he shot their way to the door. Soon they were out of the building and hiding in the shadows of the street.

"Alright, this is where we part ways," said Castle. "I hope to God that we never have to see each other again." Tom nodded in agreement.

Now the dilemma Tom faced was, that although the valves were pretty much ready to take to the operating table, he needed to find a surgeon to perform the operation. Being in possession of stolen, experimental organs was a federal crime, and no reputable surgeon would perform such an illegal operation. In the meantime, Tom drove as fast as he could to his old campus at the University of Pittsburgh where, he called in a favour from a friend to hide the organs in their lab in the McGowan Institute. He told his friend it would be better if he didn't know what it was, just that it was a secret project he had been working on. The friend agreed without any discussion. Tom slept hard that night, relieved that he had at least bought Mariah some time. He decided that the next day would bring it's own problems, and that for now, resolving one problem at a time was sufficient.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The board of directors at Oscorp had not been in agreement that all the Liberators needed to be stationed in faraway branch offices for their own safety. In fact, to insure the thorough destruction of all research pertaining to hybrid research, they had appointed Maxwell Dillon to be in charge of the lab and had approved the private security contractors to watch over the operation and provide protection. Tom's little break-in and theft seemed to give credence to Mark Iraklis' concerns, but the board, led by Senator Baker, were determined to leave Oscorp Labs under the management of Max Dillon.

At the behest of the board, Dillon tried to reach out to Harry Osborne, saying that he appreciated his opposition to Iraklis, for their lawsuit with each other boosted his own position in the company. Osborne coldly retorted that he filed the lawsuit to oppose Iraklis, not to assist Connors' murderers.

Upon hearing this remark, the board began plotting against Osborne, to try and undermine his credibility, and seek a legal skeleton in his closet to use as a pretext to have him thrown out of the company. Osborne was aware of this, and called Tom to meet him at a discreet location where they could discuss a plan.

Tom wanted to invite Gwen along, so he went by her room and found her packing her luggage. "Are you going somewhere?" he asked, surprised.

Gwen looked up and smiled. "I saw the carnage in the lab. Looks like somebody went to town in there. I guess it was probably just that hit man, escaping. Funny, though, only I noticed that he stopped on his way out to steal your heart transplant project. Weird, huh?"

"Yeah, weird. So far no one has asked any questions."

"Still too embarrassed, I guess. But it works out well for you, doesn't it? Well, you're not the only one whose projects are in jeopardy with all this chaos. I've got permission from Iraklis to go to Iran and set up a joint project with Dr. Alex Seifalian, who runs a bioengineering laboratory in London. Dr. Seifalian is originally from Iran, and he was excited about the prospect of setting up a lab in his home country. We have to steer clear of animal-human hybrids, of course, so I got approval to work with materials from plant fibres to grow the organs. It's really fascinating stuff. And I feel like going back to the Middle East and getting away from all of this pandemonium will be good for me."

Tom opened his mouth to say something, but was speechless from shock.

"Just try and be happy for me, okay? This is where I belong, and I've also got a meeting scheduled with the Pakistan minister of health, to discuss a deal for selling our pharmaceuticals in their country. That was the icing on the cake for the company to approve my project."

"Gwen, that's great! I am happy for you! Sounds like you'll be super busy."

"Yeah, I'm going to have a crazy schedule right from the day I arrive. You know, I could use your help with these projects. We already know that we work well together. I think that you'd love working with Dr. Seifalian and that you'd be fascinated by what they're doing. The field is accelerating in leaps and bounds, and his team is on the cutting edge."

Again, Tom found it difficult to find the right words. "Gwen, um, I would love to. Believe me."

Gwen raised her hand, somewhat annoyed. "I know, I know. You made your choice a long time ago."

"Come on, I know if anyone would understand it would be you. I have to at least try to see this thing through." He grinned. "I've committed way too many felonies along the way to give up now."

"That is exactly the reason you should get out of here."

"At least one or two of the times that I bent the law was a plan of yours, if I recall."

"Look, I'm not going to say that I'm not disappointed by your decision, but I do understand. Take care of yourself. Now that I'm not going to be here to watch your back."

"Take care of yourself too. Speaking of people you can trust, Harry Osborne wants to have a clandestine meeting with me. That's a little weird, huh?"

"That's exactly the kind of thing that I'm trying to warn you about. I wouldn't trust that guy if I were you."

"He seems like a good guy. I kind of like him."

Gwen gave him a hug, and kissed him on the cheek. "Just be careful, okay?"

Tom met Harry Osborne in a dark little bar in Brighton Beach, south Brooklyn. "Interesting hang-out," remarked Tom. "Are you a regular here?"

"There are no cameras, and yeah, I trust the manager and the clientele here for their discretion."

"Alright, what's up?"

"Look, Tom. We've always been friends, right? Well I want to maintain that friendly relationship as things continue to get more serious at Oscorp. So I'm going to let you in on something, and then maybe you can help me out as well. Tomorrow, I'm going to demand that I be elected to the Board of Directors. When they refuse, I'm going to unleash a public relations nightmare on them by leaking the video of the murder. Iraklis tried to sway public opinion against them, but I'm going to set lynch mobs after them with the whole world wanting their heads for that vicious assassination. But in the meantime, I want you to set up a meeting with you, me and Iraklis."

"Okay. Why me?"

"I trust you, and Iraklis trusts you and knows you. Just tell him I'm ready to set aside our differences to get justice and to save this company. Don't worry. He'll come."

Osborne made good on his threats, and he had the board scrambling to try and deal with the public backlash of anger. The video was soon running on all the news outlets and everyone seemed to be voicing their opinion. Two days later, Tom found himself in the same dark little bar, with Iraklis and Osborne.

"Look Iraklis," Osborne began, "I know we've had our differences in the past, but we have got to work together on this. We can't maintain control of this company unless we unite. For this to work, you have to push that I be elected to the board."

"That may not be that easy."

"Well, it's necessary if we're going to organize an effective strategy. And we're already short on time. Why do you think Auchmann and Kasady are happy to be hiding out in Australia? Or more interesting still, why Baker hasn't been pushing to get them reinstated here?"

"Probably they're trying to avoid the electric chair."

"In a matter of speaking that is correct. They're compiling a rock-solid defence," Osborne's voice took on an even more hushed tone. "They're looking for 'the Island.' I trust you know of what I am referring." The blood seemed to drain from Iraklis face. "I can see that I need not explain that if our enemies get there first, it would raise many unwanted questions into just how Oscorp developed some of their treatments. I'm sure it would get pretty uncomfortable around here, to say the least, if the world knew all that Oscorp had done there."

"How much do you know?" stammered Iraklis.

"Enough to know that if they find it, it would assure our destruction. We need to stop them, before they find the island."

"Stopping them will be no small task. They've enlisted a private army."

"It's true," Tom was finally able to pipe in. "They've got ex-Blackwater soldiers protecting them."

"Then we'll need to amass an army for ourselves," said Iraklis. "I have some military contacts, so that may not be a problem."

"And I have mine," assured Osborne. "But before we go overseas, we need to fully assume control here at home. We need to purge the board of all of our enemies."

"That can be arranged. Oscorp currently has a big board and our share price is down. We'll explain to the shareholders that firing some board members is a sure fire way to make the shares go up. For that to work, then, you'd have to take a reduced salary."

"That won't be an issue," said Osborne. "So let's draw up our list of enemies shall we? I already have a few in mind that I want out. I assume Baker sits at the top of your list?"

"For this to work, we have to get rid of Baker in a more, shall we say, all-embracing manner. If we just tried to fire him, he wouldn't go quietly, and like you said, we don't have time for that. Does anyone have a problem with where this is going?" He looked back and forth at the other two. Osborne immediately shrugged and said he was perfectly fine with it. Tom felt uncomfortable. But it was true. They were running out of time. Finally he regretfully shook his head. "Alright then I'll set it up. The obvious choice to carry it out is the Punisher. He is by far the best."

"Do you think that he'll do it? He has some sort of code with this kind of thing." Tom was deeply hoping that the others would agree that it wasn't necessary.

"He'll do it. Baker's a politician and he's dirty. Anyone can see that. If the Punisher wants to do it in a way that doesn't destroy Baker's legacy, I'll leave it up to him."

"This still doesn't sit right with me. I got into studying biotechnology to _save_ lives. Now we're talking about taking them? It just doesn't make sense." Tom was debating more with himself, but out loud.

"Look, stick to thinking in the lab with the rest of the squints. Eggheads thinking too much outside of the lab is how we got into this mess in the first place," Iraklis snapped.

Harry made more of an effort to assuage Tom's feelings of guilt. "If this was just about the research, then you'd be exactly right. But it's bigger than that. These people killed Dr. Connors. Murdered him in cold blood. This is more about getting justice and setting things right, the way that he would have wanted it."

Meanwhile, both Iraklis and Osborne had been scribbling away on napkins. "Alright, here's my list. We'll fire these people, and we'll have a lot less opposition for whatever we need to do."

"And here's mine. I also propose that we instate Tom Jones to run Oscorp labs. What do you think?"

Iraklis gave an expression of indifference. "Fine with me." He held his hand out and they all shook on their agreements.

"Let us be off, then gentlemen. We are still surrounded by enemies, but that should change in the coming days, and then we shall be off to the South Pacific!" Osborne declared.

The next few days were very eventful. In addition to winning over shareholders by their purge of the board, Iraklis and Osborne saw the loss of a few other enemies as well. Maxwell Dillon went to eat at a restaurant in Hell's Kitchen and he was never heard from again.

The story of what happened to Senator Billy Baker made the news. One night his limo collided with another car, that after bringing the Senator's limo to a halt, hit the concrete barrier and rolled. The Senator was left with minor injuries, and while he normally would not get involved in helping out his fellow man and would have preferred to stay in his car, the drunk driver of the other vehicle had a sensational story to tell. In his account of the accident, he remembers the 'Senator' dragging his body away from his burning vehicle. "The Senator must have gone back to my car to make sure that there was now one else to save." The man started crying in the news interview. "If I hadn't been inebriated, I could have told him that it was just me in the car. Then we would have another hero still with us. Instead…" He broke down, unable to finish.

The police arrived at the scene to find the drunk dragged to safety, just as he would later explain. And they found the remains of the Senator burned with the car, killed when it exploded.

Tom was at the bar when he saw the news report. "I guess Frank Castle had respect for Senator Baker after all, giving him a hero's death, and protecting his legacy. Although, since he was a man who despised the poor so much, maybe this wasn't the legacy he wanted," he said to Harry and Mischa, raising a glass.

"We don't always get to choose the legacy we leave behind," observed Harry.

"What do you want your legacy to be?" asked Tom.

"God willing, I'd like to leave behind a strong company that will continue long after I'm gone. Connors had the vision, but he made some mistakes. If I can hold on to the reins for a long time, and bring order to this mess, than I think that will be a key factor in creating longevity and success."

Tom studied his drink. "What do you think happened to Dillon?"

Osborne and Mischa looked at one another. "I don't know. I have a feeling Iraklis had something to do with it, but I'd rather not ask."

"Eet deed have the marks of a mob heet," put in Mischa.

"Yeah," sighed Tom, draining his glass.

The next day, Tom was in Iraklis' office with Harry Osborne, when he received a Skype call from Gwen. "Gwen! So good to see you! How are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm doing okay. I'm encountering a little more resistance here than I thought. Are you in Mark's office? Can you point me to him? Mark, we need to talk about something. This guy, Nick Powell, whom you nominated to oversee the Mumbai branch? Yeah, he's a complete idiot! It's common knowledge over here that he's constantly flying around in the company jet, mostly partying in Macao, Monte Carlo, South Africa. You get my drift?"

"Those are all gambling destinations," concluded Harry.

"Exactly, thank you. So this is the guy who's supposed to be setting up one of our biggest deals with India, and not only is he a brazen profligate, but he leaves behind a lot of scandal in his wake. You know that India, while predominantly Hindu, still has lots of Muslims right? Well, I don't think they're too impressed to be doing business with someone who blatantly flaunts their moral code. There has been major fallout here, when he caused a huge scandal in Dubai. He went there supposedly to attend an important medical conference and then he got drunk at a party and trashed his hotel room. A lot of his employees were arrested for drinking alcohol in an unlicensed venue. It's a disaster! And I'm here in Iran with the morality police breathing down my neck while they're constantly investigating the Oscorp offices.

"I actually miss working with Dr. Smythe. We may not have seen eye to eye on a lot of things, but at least he understands how to maintain good relations with the Muslim authorities. He's over in Turkey right now helping Syrian refugees. He's running his own humanitarian organization that provides medical supplies, and operates a trauma centre for Syrians that are injured. There's even photos of him personally using his medical training to provide trauma care. I don't know if he's hoping for some absolution, but I'll tell you one thing: our sales in Turkey are great. When it comes to licences or approvals, we can have whatever we want there. India, not so much."

After they finished their video chat with Gwen, Tom raised the issue that had been burning a hole in his brain. "So now that you've consolidated your power base here in Oscorp, we don't have to worry about kowtowing to the haters anymore, right? I mean, you said we were to carry on with Dr. Connors' vision for the company and that all his programs would be ratified. So then, we're free to carry on with hybrid research without any hindrances, right?"

Iraklis looked annoyed at the question, but Harry was more conciliatory. "Yes, of course we intend to sanction all of these programs. But we have to be smart about it. We are not sure of what exactly we are going to find at the secret Island laboratories. If we don't seal off any potential scandals from that, none of us will be safe." He patted Tom on the back. "We're going to resolve this little problem as quickly as possible. So just hold off a little while longer."

Tom left the office in a huff, knowing that time was the one thing Mariah didn't have.

After he left, Iraklis looked to Harry, "He's out of his depth here with us unless he learns to just do as he's told and stop thinking."

"And yet so far he submits without a complaint to all that we've decided upon."

"He's very driven, but I fear only to a point. He'll follow our lead as long as we hold out the carrot and he believes he can still reach it. We will need to keep him convinced with unbridled hope, because once he's lost his motivation, then he will cease to be useful."

"Let us not be plotting our allies' demise while we yet sit in such a vulnerable position, virtually surrounded by adversaries. We will need him yet, methinks."

As Osborne so aptly stated, good allies are necessary. Yet also is true that a chain is no stronger than its weakest link. Gwen proved to be right in her concern over the problems that Nicholas Powell was causing. But it got worse than anyone could have surmised.

Tom was already travelling with Mark Iraklis and Harry Osborne to Australia when they were informed of this latest piece of scandal involving Oscorp.

As it turned out, Powell's branch was bleeding money, mostly as a result of his extravagant methods that also failed to bring many returns. He decided, being banned from Dubai, that he would try to strike up a deal with the Saudis to boost his bottom line. Not being confident with his reputation amongst the Muslim authorities in that part of the world, he reached out to Dr. Spencer Smythe to intervene and set up a meeting for him.

Smythe refused. He saw Powell as just another decadent, corporate suit with a sense of entitlement, and he told him so. Powell was livid. He flew down to Ankara with his personal bodyguard that he had taken the custom of traveling with, to have it out with Smythe in person. He threatened and he sulked, but Smythe wouldn't budge. The rest of the details became fuzzy, but what was confirmed was that after their altercation, Spencer Smythe was kidnapped and became a prisoner of Islamic State. The video of him being tortured and beheaded was released just as Tom was catching up with the news on his phone. "Seems a little suspicious don't you think?" he remarked to Mischa.

"Sospeeshis? Da. Pouvel deed thees. Hayds are goink to roll."

It was true. Powell was fired, but not before Guy Kasady made a statement condemning Oscorp's CEO and president for their 'cruel negligence in recklessly pursing their corporate agenda.' Iraklis tried to get in front of the scandal by giving Guy permission to lead an investigation. Guy sent Dr. Peter Morgan to Mumbai to lead the 'investigation', where he found Powell hanging in his apartment. A photo was sent in an interdepartmental memo of the supposed suicide, but Tom spotted a small skull pinned to Powell's shirt.

"He didn't hang himself! Frank Castle did this! Look! He left his calling card," he said, pointing to the photo. Tom turned to face Iraklis.

"Don't look at me! I had nothing to do with this. I'm being honest."

"Then we can safely say that Dr. Kasady has hired the Punisher to lead his mercenaries." Harry's face had his most serious appearance.

"Eet's better that we know. Now we can prepare accordingly," said Mischa.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Toby Auchmann worked at his laptop, studying satellite photos, maps and charts. By process of elimination, they were working their way across the south Pacific, hopping from island to island with helicopters, looking for Dr. Julian Connors' secret laboratories. As Toby sat in his office in the Oscorp building in Brisbane, the air conditioners could not keep the sweat from rolling down his back. Perhaps it was also the thought of spending another ten hours in a helicopter, searching for an island that wasn't on the map. But, he had a feeling that they were getting close. His office door opened and Frank Castle walked in the room.

"What news, Colonel? Has Dr. Kasady returned?"

"Indeed, sir, and Lieutenant Soria is here to report."

"Good. Send her in." Adriana Soria, former US marine, now private security contractor, was soon standing at attention in his office. "I could use some good news for a change, Lieutenant. Tell me you have something for me."

"Dr. Kasady sends his respects, Doctor, along with your information packet."

Toby opened the envelope handed to him by Adriana and he cast his eyes over the information within. His interest was particularly fixated on the photos that Guy had sent. "This could certainly be something, Lieutenant. Where were these photos taken?"

"On an uninhabited atoll, close to Samoa. We ran low on fuel and had to return. But I believe it was Dr. Kasady's intention to return for a closer inspection, pending your approval Dr. Auchmann."

"Certainly. Here he comes now. Great work, Guy! Based on what I've seen so far, I think you may have found it!"

"I figured you would agree with me. You see these small buildings? You can just make them out at the edge of the jungle? Those could be dormitories of some sort. And if you look at the satellite photos here, blown up, these…" he pointed to some square images. "...look like they could quite possibly be solar panels."

"Well we started off with the unenviable task of looking for a needle in a haystack, but it seems that our hard work and persistence could finally be paying off. And not a moment too soon. I've just gotten word that Iraklis is coming here, with his new pet, Harold Osborne." Toby pronounced the last name with particular disdain. "And I have a feeling that the time for back room bargaining and negotiations are over. Iraklis will be out for blood, so that's why we have to get to this island first before they can destroy the evidence and murder us."

"Lieutenant! How soon can we be back in the air?" Guy barked at Soria.

"We can have the heli's refuelled and packed in under four hours, sir," she replied.

"We should go in hot, with all of our troops." said Toby. "If Iraklis wants to launch an attack, then we'll already be dug in and ready to put up a fight."

"Right behind you, sir!" smiled Castle.

Tom examined his thin paper coffee cup, regretting the bitter taste of its contents. If this wasn't cheap instant coffee he was drinking, then someone had demonstrated his great incompetence to prepare it so poorly. He licked his lips, trying to get the weak yet burnt taste off his tongue.

He looked out the window of the airport and sighed, not looking forward to what the next few days would hold. He also lamented that he found himself in Sydney, a city he had always dreamed of visiting, and all he would be able to see would be the airport. Resigning himself to what would have to be done to accomplish his goals, he choked back the rest of the warm, brown liquid and prepared himself to return to the Oscorp jet. They were scheduled to fly to Brisbane in an hour.

As he made his way back to the plane, he found Iraklis poring over different maps while comparing these with what he saw on his laptop.

"Any luck?" Tom asked.

"We know where we're going. A small, uninhabited volcanic island known as Noble's Isle. We think that Doc Ock's team are also aware of its location and have a head start on us."

"So what's the plan?"

"That's what I'm working on right now. But I know where I'd like you to be. Our objective is to secure the island with all of its contents, and seal it off. Now it's a safe bet that Ock knows we're coming, so he will no doubt try and to either get evidence off of the island to incriminate us, or film and photograph what he finds and then transmit this information to a server on the mainland. Our first priority will be to block any transmissions coming from this island. I read in your CV that you have a background in computers. Is setting up the equipment and operating it to effectively block any communications on and off of the island something you can handle?"

"Shouldn't be problem. I'll just need a few things."

"You'll get whatever you want. You'll just need to operate everything until we land. Then you'll probably want to stay in whatever hiding place you can find until we've got the island secured. Something tells me that this is going to be a rough ride."

"Great. Well, as long as I'm in the lab or at a computer desk, I should be fine."

Iraklis just looked at Tom gravely, and nodded.

Toby loaded the rest of his gear into his backpack, and prepared to run across the tarmac to his waiting helicopter. He saw that Guy was already loaded up and waiting to go. Toby just had one thing to do. "Dr. Morgan." he said, talking to Peter. "We need you to buy us some time. We don't know exactly what will be waiting for us on the island, so we need you to do whatever you can to slow down Iraklis and his team of knuckle-draggers. We've always been one step ahead of them, and if we remain true to ourselves that is not going to change. Although we have the intellectual advantages, we cannot underestimate their savage resolve. We will have to be meticulously cold-hearted as well if we are to stop them, calling in every resource."

"I understand completely, Toby. Good luck."

"To you as well, Peter," he said, shaking his hand.

Tom and Harry were on their way to the helicopters they had requisitioned for their mission to Noble's Isle when airport security pulled them over in their truck. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but you're going to have to come with us." They later learned that they had received a tip that drug smugglers were using their helicopters and they needed to analyze their equipment, cargo and personnel manifests, and a hundred other details before they would clear them for take off. Until they were satisfied, their helicopters were grounded. Iraklis started calling in favours through various contacts that he had to expedite the process, but it was still very slow. They sent Tom to take his equipment to the dock and try and head to the island by boat.

"That will take hours, maybe days!" Tom protested.

"Then get going!' was the response.

Tom managed to find a boat that was big and fast enough to get him and his equipment close to the island, where he could start jamming their signals from the ocean. He got a crew together from the sailors who were hanging around the docks looking for work. Most of them were of Vietnamese origin, with a few Chinese and Malay mixed in. As they equipped the boat and headed out to sea, Tom felt confident with his motley crew of experienced mariners. Most were former fishermen in their countries of heritage, and seemed calmly confident on the open sea. Tom did not have much experience as a boat captain, but since he was paying for the voyage, he was in charge.

As they headed out to the open ocean, Tom felt freer than he had in a long time. Something about the bracing sea air, the salty spray that would splash his face, the dolphins that played in their wake, and the seagulls that followed them for a time, Tom felt like he was escaping from some of his problems and worries.

After a few hours of sailing, when they found themselves far enough out in the open sea that there was no land in sight, a boat was spotted by one of the sharp-eyed deckhands. The news of an approaching motorboat seemed to set the crew on edge, "What's the big deal?" asked Tom. "It's probably just fishermen or something, right?"

"No, captain, sir. Not this far away from shore," replied Khai, the one who seemed to have been promoted to first mate.

"Then who would they be?" asked Tom, looking through the binoculars. "They're not my rivals in my company." He had tried to explain the basics of what their mission was with our freaking them out. Basically he had said that they were competing for a prize in their science group, and that if they could get to the island as soon as possible, they would win the award.

"No sir. These are not, er, round eyes. These would be pirates."

"Pirates?" Tom peered incredulously through the binoculars. "They really just look like some average guys in a boat."

"Believe me, we know sir. Every one of us here from Vietnam had to escape the pirates to arrive safely in another port. These pirates, they come from Thailand. They terrible. They kill and rape, everybody. They not care if you woman, child, baby. They kill you with hammer when done." Khai was very visibly shaken up, like he had just had an unwelcome visit from a ghost with whom he had old animosity, but had not been seen nor heard from for a long time.

"And you're sure that's who this is?" asked Tom, askance. "Why didn't you say something when we left Brisbane if we were heading into pirate territory?"

"This isn't normally pirate water!" Khai was almost yelling. "They're not usually this far south. I don't know what they doing here or how they found us, but those are pirates, and we need to get all hands below!"

Khai's face that was bordering on hysteria was enough to convince Tom that something was seriously wrong. He sounded the alarm and Khai informed the crew. They didn't have much in the way of weapons, but whatever they could find was soon in the hands of the frightened looking crew. The majority of them had faced pirates before, or at least had heard the horror stories. Most of them wore a grave countenance and clutched their bludgeons, knives or machetes or whatever tool they had for self-defence.

Some of the sailors were talking excitedly in Vietnamese. When Tom asked Khai what was the argument, he translated, "Some think that if we put up a fight, it will mean death for us all. So they are saying we should just surrender."

Tom felt a knot tighten in his gut. "Surrender? They want to just give up? Okay, listen up everybody," Tom addressed the crew. "We're going to try to get you out of this. But we're going to have to work together. These guys, these pirates, they don't want prisoners. They want to kill us. I'm sorry, but it's true."

"How do you know?" asked a terrified sailor.

"Because they were hired by our enemies." A blended mix of oaths in a many languages erupted in the cabin. "But – but," Tom tried to get their attention, waving his hands. "But we have one weapon that these pirates are not counting on. I am a trained soldier, and I am an expert in hand-to-hand combat. If we can just hold on and stay safe and alive until the pirates come close, we should be able to overpower them. So everyone hide down in the hold and we're going to let these pirates come aboard. The longer we can stay out of sight the better, and we have to hope that they won't just sink us. Hopefully they're counting on us carrying some valuable cargo, and they would be right."

Tom was interrupted by a bunch of sailors excitedly talking in Vietnamese all at the same time. Tom didn't need a translator to understand their mutinous intentions. He needed to choose his next few words carefully if he was going to salvage this mission. Thankfully for the time being, he seemed to still have Khai's support, as he whistled loudly and said something that got everyone to stop talking and listen as Tom continued.

"If I can appeal to their greed then maybe I can convince them to capture me for ransom. That way I can keep all of you safe. Remember: hunker down here. Don't come out unless I tell you. You're all getting out of this safely, as long as we follow the plan. Now let's prepare for battle."

As the sailors busied themselves around the boat, looking for a place to set themselves so that they could hide, but yet take a stand when the time came, Tom looked pensively back at the fast approaching pirate boat. Obviously he had lied. He wasn't a soldier, and he had no training in combat. "I really should think about getting some martial arts training," he said aloud, gloomily. No one was bothering to pay attention to him now. They were getting their adrenalin up, begging their gods to save them or allow them to die with dignity.

While Tom had fibbed to try and instil some confidence in the crew so that they would rally behind him and defend themselves, now he was having trouble maintaining the brave face of a battle leader. His plan was simply to rely on his enhanced abilities to win this fight, but the uncertainty and stress of engaging in a bloody battle was beginning to overwhelm him. He had never faced a group of experienced killers before, and he had never had a group of people whose lives depended on him.

Tom closed his eyes momentarily and breathed deeply. Well, there was no time for second guessing now, he told himself. He would fight, and he couldn't let fear of death or failure slow him down. He reminded himself of why he was doing any of this. Why was he in this situation? He pulled out his phone and looked at a photo of Mariah. Maybe these pirates felt they had their reasons for their life choices. And maybe they felt justified in carrying out atrocities here close to their homelands. But just as they had made choices that resulted in destiny pitting them against him, he also had made choices and was highly motivated to be successful. Fate had placed them at loggerheads, and unfortunately for these hapless wretches, they would have to go down. It wasn't anything personal. It was the way of the world.

Tom set his jaw and steeled his nerve and got ready to take his position. He lay low on the deck, and swiftly went to the far side of the yacht away from the approaching attackers and hung off the side, spider-like, waiting to convert the hunters into the prey.

As the pirate boat got close, they called from a megaphone, "American boat! Stop your engines and prepare to be boarded! None of you will be hurt! But you must give up and surrender! If you do not stop your engines, we will shoot all of you and sink your vessel! American boat! Stop your engines and prepare to be boarded!"

Tom held his breath. Khai had orders to keep the engines at full throttle and to keep down and out of sight. Without any further warnings, the pirates made good on their threat. Machine gun fire started peppering the deck and shattering the windows. Everyone kept out of sight and survived this first assault. As the pirate boat paused their shooting to get a better angle, they swung around closer to the side that Tom was hiding on near the bow. He was having trouble staying out of sight, but he was trying to hold on until they got a bit closer. Soon they were going further to the side to try and lay some more machine gun fire, but on the other side of the boat this time. They were a little further out then Tom would have preferred, but he decided that this was the time to make his move. He just held on a little more as they tried to get into better position for their gunners.

As the lead pirate squeezed his finger on the trigger of his assault rifle, Tom rapidly swung up onto the deck and leaped the distance to land on the pirate boat. His heart was pumping so hard, time seemed to slow down. The bullets started to slowly rain down on the deck as Tom watched furtively to see if his calculations were correct, to leap from one speeding boat to another. As he descended on the pirate boat as an angel of death, he could see the whites of their eyes. Twelve straining eyes. Eight eyes bugging out to aim their guns and see if any of their bullets were finding human flesh to occupy. Two popping eyes of their pilot, skilfully guiding their boat in the attack. And two young eyes, with his gun lying dormant at his side, desperately watching everything that happened, perhaps observing his first violent enterprise. But as all were intensely focused on the boat, none of these wide opened eyes could be distracted to look up, to perceive from where the danger was actually coming from.

And even when Tom landed in their boat, knocking a gunner into the foamy ocean, the rest took a long time to react to this most unpredicted form of counterattack. Their sheer surprise and disbelief gave Tom the opportunity to kick another gunner in the throat, who then also fell back and plunged out of the boat. Tom plucked the machine gun out of the hands of an absolutely shocked looking third pirate, who couldn't even gather together his wits to respond with a defensive stance as Tom rifle-butted him across the face, knocking him to the floor of the boat.

Now it is true, that the aggressive introduction of this counterassault took place in a few short seconds. And impressively quickly, realization began to descend on the pirates that there was a near and present danger in their very midst. As they began to respond, Tom, although acting against his strong aversion to using firearms, felt that the desperation of his situation called for an exception, and he shot the pilot three times in the chest and watched him get knocked back and tumble into the roiling sea at the stern.

Now, the remaining two fully recognized the need to engage this threat that now faced them in their own boat. They trained their guns on Tom, and as he dodged their shots, he closed the little bit of distance between them to engage them in hand to hand fighting. He grabbed the gun out of the hand of the closest pirate, and pulling down hard on his left arm, rose up and delivered a punishing blow down on the side of the pirate's neck, knocking him senseless. The pirate boat was proceeding to slow down, so when the pirate went down and Tom kicked him out of the boat, Tom watched him float in the water for a few moments. Tom's attention was focused on the remaining pirate, but a sudden blue flash in the water caught Tom's eye. He turned in horror to watch a long rounded dorsal fin emerge to the surface followed by a thrashing body and giant bloody mouth with razor teeth and bright pink gums attack the screaming man in the water.

The remaining pirate took advantage of Tom's distraction, and delivered a full broadside in the face with the butt of his rifle. Tom staggered back, and while reeling, only managed to dodge the main force of the next blow, with the tip of the gun still catching him in the chin as the pirate swung his gun from the barrel like a battle axe. Shaking off the pain, Tom dropped and rolled to avoid the next swing and coming up from under his deft opponent and grabbing the doomed man by the crotch and the collar, he threw him into the ocean, where three hungry whitetip sharks were voraciously waiting. Tom looked back to see a hand momentarily rise, and then sink below the surface.

Feeling blood on his teeth, Tom spat into the water and wiped his face with his sleeve. His bloody saliva drew a curious, shadowy visitor as Tom saw the pointy face, followed by the long fins that nimbly spun in the water until Tom only saw a long mottled coloured tail that gracefully caused the water to churn. Like a phantom that rises from the abyss and just as quickly vanishes, Tom's attention was momentarily captured by what looked like a bite mark out of the upper lobe of the shark's tail. But as this sea predator was not an immediate threat, Tom looked now to the one unconscious pirate that had managed to fall and remain inside the boat. Tom tied him up and then went in search of his own yacht to let the crew know that they could lower the red alert. Danger, for now, had been averted.

Back in his yacht, Tom pored over maps and charts with Khai. "So if the pirate boat came from this direction, then the pirate mother ship would most likely be in this direction. Wouldn't you agree?" Tom looked to Khai for guidance.

Khai shrugged his shoulders. "It's possible, but more likely is that the bigger boat would be on the move and that they would have a previously planned meeting point. One where they could also hide our boat and then divide the stolen products."

"Well good thing we have one of them here with us."

Khai splashed cold water into the face of the bruised and bound pirate. As the man started to come around, Khai held back his head so that his prisoner could see him and hear him clearly. He began to fiercely interrogate the pirate in Thai. The defeated man just rolled his head down, almost to try and block out his predicament and his tormenter. Khai persisted his questioning, until finally the man mumbled an answer. Apparently it was not the response Khai was seeking, as he got more menacing and started slamming his fist into the steel bulkhead behind the man. The man started mumbling what sounded like the same expression over and over, in an almost whiny tone. Then Khai changed tack. He stopped his questioning and went to get the man some water. Then he offered him a bowl of rice, with a bit of chicken in it. When he had finished eating, he spoke to the man in a kind, almost fatherly tone. Slowly, the pirate began to speak, but as if he was politely protesting against something he strongly did not want to do. Khai kept up his gentle remonstrations, as his prisoner began to accept the futility of resisting the inevitable. Finally, with his head dropped to his chest, he declared something that brought a smile to Khai's face. He looked up at Tom who had watched the whole painful process from a bit of a distance. Khai said a couple more words and patted the man on his shoulder and head. Standing up, he kept grinning. "I got the meeting point."

Under cover of darkness, Tom piloted the pirate boat with his prisoner tied up and gagged, sitting in front of him. He had left Khai and the rest of the crew on the yacht with instructions to sneak up as close to the island as they could without being detected and to turn on the satellite signal jamming system. Tom had spent the last few hours setting up the equipment so that his crew would have no difficulty turning it on; hopefully. Now Tom was trying to get a bit of an upper hand in this contest. He knew that if the pirates did not report back to their bosses and to whoever had hired them, they would just send more. So Tom was hoping to strike back at them to further disrupt their plans and buy more time for Iraklis and Osborne.

They arrived at the rendezvous point, and Tom cut the motor of his small boat to idle, and waited. Sure enough, the faint silhouette of a yacht could be discerned. Tom and Khai had instructed the pirate to just act normal and call out the expected greeting, so as not to raise the alarm. But as a matter of course, Tom's nerves were on edge as he removed the rag from his prisoner's mouth. As the two boats edged closer to each other, with Tom only gently nudging the throttle, Tom heard a question in Thai called from the yacht. He nudged his prisoner, who cleared his throat and called out something as well. Although Tom couldn't understand Thai, the tone of the pirate's voice betrayed fear. Tom just prayed that the sound of the motor and the waves muffled that somewhat. As they passed within shooting distance, Tom sucked in his breath. He couldn't make a jump from this far away, and he could practically feel a rifle being pointed at him from the other boat. As if he was listening to his fears, the captive pirate called out an alarm in a panicked shout.

"Aw, hell's blazes!" yelled Tom, and immediately gunned his motor, lifting the prow of his boat out of the water and tossing his captive around like a rag doll, who had his hands unfortunately tied behind his back and could not prevent his face from being bounced off the bottom of the boat.

Voices yelled out to alert that they were under attack, and machine gun fire erupted out of the darkness in response to the alarm of Tom's prisoner. Tom was grateful for the speed of his little boat, and between the swift pace and the dark gloom, the shooters had difficulty in locating their target. They also did not expect Tom to be accelerating to ramming speed, so while they were still blindly scattering bullets into the dark night when the piercing sound of scraping metal screamed out as the yacht lurched to the side, knocking the shooters around. Tom had leaped into the air just moments before impact, and while the pirates in the mother ship were still trying to recover their senses, a rapidly moving, wraithlike figure was sweeping through their ranks, knocking them over the side, or beating them senseless.

Finally, one pirate managed to grab hold of his machine gun and began firing hysterically after Tom, as he ran and ducked for cover, rolling down a stairway below deck. There he leaped behind a bulkhead, as three surprised sailors pulled out their sidearms and began firing. Tom was trapped. He wished he had brought a gun, but he still hadn't come around to the idea of carrying one. Now the prospect of being able to defend himself in a pinned down situation was a lot more appealing. Thinking quickly, he grabbed a metal folding chair that was leaning nearby. As the sailors were advancing on his position, Tom moved forward on them as well using the chair as a shield. Once he was in striking distance, he was able to use the chair as an offensive weapon, bashing the face of one sailor, slamming the gun holding arm of the other, and kicking the gun out of the hand of the third. In a matter of seconds, he laid all three down unconscious by swinging the chair around and slamming it into skulls, jaws, and backs.

Tom dropped the chair to face the remaining figure in the cabin. "Hello Peter," he said. "Terrible circumstances to find each other in."

Peter looked positively shocked to find himself facing Tom. "Tom?" he stammered. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"Call off your man up there," Tom ordered, referring to the sailor still wielding a machine gun. "Tell him that the situation is under control and we're just having a peaceful chat."

Peter wore a defeated expression on his haggard face. After a brief pause, he called to his soldier up on deck to stand down. Then he slowly started to move to the side of the cabin, where he opened a cupboard. "I never wanted any of this, you know."

"You never wanted what?"

Peter pulled out a whisky bottle and two glasses. "I mean I never wanted any of this violence. The politics are part of the job, I know. And I am still a believer in the value of having increased scientific representation in government, so obviously political debate is necessary. But now I feel that we, who were opposing what we believed to be inherently cataclysmic threats to humanity, have lost our moral authority and now we have our own wrongs that we must answer for. It is times like these, when the unadulterated truth of a finely crafted liquor are singularly useful, to help me make sense of an enigmatic problem. So when the world gets, shall we say, too complicated to understand, than I especially appreciate the subtle complexity found in a first rate single malt. Will you do me the honour of having a drink with me?" he asked, uncorking the bottle.

Tom pulled out a stool. "That's the most logical thing I've heard anyone say in a long time." Tom's nose inhaled the vapours from the glass and allowed the velvety, smoky liquid to envelop his tongue. When he exhaled, his throat and nostril burned pleasantly. "Now that... is a fine whisky," he said reflectively. "What is it that you are searching for, this truth that you seek? For you are likely to find it, if you rove about in a sublime spirit such as this."

Peter sighed and stared contemplatively out the window. "I'd say I'm looking for some sort of faith. Faith in my fellow man. Or even, hope in the future for humankind. I used to believe that pollution and climate change were the greatest threats facing humanity. But now I believe that irresponsible technology and reckless corporate agendas will spell the end of the human age, or at least bring twilight to our civilization." He took another sip of his drink.

Tom tapped his glass with his fingers. "Well it might surprise you to hear that I'm not in complete disagreement with you. What's more, I think we can work together for the time being. Although I'm a believer in the positive benefits of transgenic medical treatments, I also would like to see just what Dr. Connors hid away from the world on these secret island laboratories. So tomorrow, we'll quietly take your yacht and sneak onto the island for some investigation."

Peter looked woebegone. "Perhaps after tomorrow, you'll want to re-examine your beliefs as well," he said despondently.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The next morning, as the yacht slowly approached Noble's Isle, Tom saw a fishing boat in the distance. "Looks like a couple of local fisherman," he said, as he looked through the field glasses. "We should go check them out. Maybe interrogate them to see if they can help us with an approach on the island."

"You've got the conn," said Peter bitterly.

As they got closer, Tom could see through the binoculars that the two occupants of the fishing boat were getting alarmed at the approaching vessel, but there was little that they could do other than prepare themselves to meet them. Eventually, Tom could see that one of the fisherman appeared to be a local, based on what he could make out from his dress and mien, but the other appeared to be white, either European or American. A foreigner, then.

Once they had gotten close to the little boat, the white man spoke out, "You from Oscorp? Are you also part of the new management?" he asked warily, betraying an American accent.

Tom looked at Peter. "We are from Oscorp. But we are from a different division than the group that has already arrived on the island. Would you mind coming aboard for a chat?" asked Tom nonchalantly.

"Do I have a choice?" grumbled the white guy.

As they came aboard, Tom tried to be friendly, and he had encouraged to Peter to smile as well. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Tom Jones, and this is my associate Dr. Peter Morgan."

The man took a little more of a friendly tone with Peter. "Oh! _Doctor_ Morgan, is it? So am I to understand that you're some kind of a scientist?" When Peter slightly nodded, recognition started to come over the man's face, and in his animated exclamations, Tom smelt rum on his breath. "Wait, I do recognize you. Forgive me, but you've aged, as have we all, and you look more tanned and outdoorsy than I remember from your photos. But yes, indeed! You're Professor Morgan from Johns Hopkins University."

Peter held out his hand in modest dissuasion. "I did teach there, for a time. Now I work with Oscorp Labs, as you do also I presume?"

"Well yes, yes I do. But it's an honour, sir, a real honour," the man said, shaking Peter enthusiastically by the hand. "To think that I am in the presence of a biochemist and Nobel Laureate of your calibre, sir. I had no idea that at Oscorp we had colleagues of such renown." He waved his thumb in the direction of Noble's Isle. "Out here in the backwater laboratories, we don't receive a lot dignitaries or, or, or…" he seemed to be searching for the right word. "Luminaries! such as yourself, sir."

"And with whom do I have the pleasure of meeting? As an esteemed colleague, I mean."

The man seemed very flattered by this comment. "I'm Dr. Elias Wirtham. I'm First Assistant to Dr. Hollister, who runs the Island Laboratory."

Now it was Peter who was searching his memory. "Dr. Hollister, Hollister. What's the good doctor's first name?"

"Dr. Lily Hollister?" Tom suddenly broke in. "I've heard of her. Wasn't she the one who was the protégé of Dr. James Watson but was then disgraced under allegations of buying ovums and coercing her research assistants into providing their own eggs for stem cell experiments?"

"'Disgraced' is a little strong," said Elias. "But yes, she was an apprentice of Dr. Watson's and is one of the leading minds in the fields of cloning human embryos and stem cell research. Although, that is not her principal pursuit here, in the island Laboratory of Oscorp."

As Elias had been talking, Tom was finding himself increasingly distracted by the appearance of Elias' companion. He had a somewhat disturbing quality, but there was no one ugly feature that Tom could single out as the source of his revulsion. The only thing Tom could think of that made him so decidedly repellent was that he seemed to appear, act, and move as if he was from the uncanny valley. Even though he possessed all the features of a strapping human male, there was a creepiness to him that gave the impression that he was a quasi-modo, almost human, but not quite. Finally Tom decided to interact with this engrossingly grotesque creature. "Hi. I'm Tom," he said as friendly as he could muster, holding his hand out for a shake.

Immediately, the man pulled back his arm in agitated surprise, as if Tom was holding out a branding iron to him. "Um, yes. This is my assistant, Pea-ulĪ. He's a local," Elias said, as if the last comment explained everything strange about his lab assistant. "He's no science major, but he's eager to please and incredibly strong, so he helps me out in various ways," he said blandly. "I grant you that he's an acquired taste, but now I'm used to having him for company, and he's grown accustomed to me and my little ways, so we work well together, either in the lab, or otherwise."

"Pleased to meet," Pea-ulĪ managed to force out an awkward response with a panting grunt.

"He's still learning to speak proper English," smiled Elias, with a bit of a nervous twitching in his eyes.

"Yes, quite. Now getting back to the subject of Dr. Hollister," segued Peter. "So what would be her principal pursuit here then, if it is not working with clones and stem cells?"

Elias looked at Peter uneasily and blinked. "I'm sorry, come again?"

"What is the subject of Dr. Hollister's research there on the island?" insisted Peter.

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say. That may sound convenient, but the truth is, the research projects that Dr. Hollister works on are top secret. Only high-level executives in Oscorp are apprised of all of what we do here. And I certainly am not informed of all the different projects. I get my own assignments, and I'm always requested to sign a confidentiality agreement beforehand. I know, sounds excessive, doesn't it? I mean, who am I going to blab to here on the island? But either way, Dr. Hollister performs the majority of her experiments with the strictest secrecy, declaring that our very existence there is classified. I always assumed we were working on government contracts for the military, because of her hyper vigilance. In point of fact, I'm surprised that so many of the new management at Oscorp are privy to the island laboratory's existence."

"Well, as you can see, Doctor, we are aware of its existence, but we have a great many questions as to what precisely transpires there," said Peter.

"So what we propose, Dr. Wirtham, is that you guide us to be able to land on the island in a way that will allow us to make some discreet observations. We are all working together at Oscorp, correct? Fellow workers and colleagues endeavouring to achieve the same worthy goals, hm? So then, man, what do you say? Can we, as part of the new management, count on your assistance and cooperation?"

Elias hesitated, but then he looked at Peter and smiled warmly. "Oh, how could I say no to helping out such an esteemed colleague as Dr. Peter Morgan? Whatever you want, you name it. You can count on me for assistance and I sincerely look forward to the inestimable privilege of working together with you."

As evening began to fall, Tom sat on deck of the yacht watching the sun go down with a glass of scotch in his hand. Their plan was to be on the move at five the next morning, just before sunrise, to make their approach to the island. Tom's curiosity was definitely up. What exactly was waiting for them on this mysterious island? As if to complement Tom's inquisitive musings, Elias' odd assistant came on deck as well and attempted to lean on the railing in a very casual, human-like manner, in order to stare out to the sea. He was trying to imitate how he thought a man would behave, and he was close, but he was evidently very circumspect in all of his movements. He was so overly careful and focused in his unnatural gestures that he was making Tom feel uncomfortable, with the feeling that this guy must be up to something nefarious.

As they both rested, waiting for the welcome darkness to bring some privacy to their thoughts and features, Tom's attention was suddenly captured by another remarkable characteristic of Pea-ulĪ's heteroclite aspect.

Light from inside the cabin was the only source of illumination as dusk was falling rapidly, when Pea-ulĪ moved his head to the side. But when he glanced back in Tom's direction momentarily and the artificial glare from the lamps reflecting back, his eyes shone with a pale-green light in a most ghostly manner. The surprise nearly caused Tom to jump out of his skin, and even worse, he nearly spilled his drink. Recovering himself, Tom's eyes struggled to peer through the cloaking darkness to try and examine again this singularly inhuman trait. Tom knew, as do many, from his work with photography that oftentimes the human eye will shine with a faint reddish luminosity. But this creature, who evidently could readily see in the dark with its eyes of fire, was some kind of entirely new species indeed.

Tom gulped the rest of his scotch and steeled his resolve to investigate the island in the morning. Evidently Dr. Lily Hollister had enjoyed some success in her ethically dubious scientific experiments on the island.

The next morning, Peter cautiously steered the yacht into a natural bay to the rear of the island, a good five kilometres away from the laboratory and residence complex that was situated on the other side. Elias had designated this as a logical and discreet landing point for the small group to begin their observations.

Peter insisted on bringing Somchai, the one remaining pirate that Tom hadn't incapacitated. As Peter put it, "If you're going to beat a guy's security detail to a pulp, save one, common courtesy dictates that you have to allow the solitary guard to perform his duty. I mean, in all seriousness, we don't know what's waiting for us out there. I'm no soldier. I need protection."

The five of them began moving through the jungle warily, while Elias always kept one hand close by his holster. Pea-ulĪ eyes kept darting about with an uneasiness that seemed to spring from a heightened awareness of his surroundings, but also stemming from the jumpiness of his fellows. Somchai kept his hands on his rifle and stuck close to Peter, who seemed ill-at-ease at the beginning, yet took the time to smell a flower as they passed by, to take in the beauty of the landscape and jungle, and kneel down to observe up close some rare insect or fungus. Peter truly was a lover of the natural world, and certainly felt happier there in the wild than in the political arena. But a sense of duty and ambition had driven him to seek political postings, as well to drum up funding for his personal research programs and humanitarian initiatives. Now, as he took a moment to admire a rare orchid, he began to question whether his sacrifices had been worthwhile.

As they marched along, Tom's attention was seized more than once by the one unnatural contrivance that they came across: large rat traps. Tom noticed a few, at regular intervals in the jungle, like warning beacons to the island's natural inhabitants that human interference was poised to tame this wilderness. Finally Tom asked, "Do you have a rat infestation here?"

"You could say that," replied Elias evasively. "There are rats that are native to this island, but a few test subjects may have escaped the lab and are now running amok, stealing and destroying."

Tom started to have a glimmer of understanding. "Do these particular rats possess above average intelligence?" he asked.

Elias shrugged. "Above average for a rat, I suppose."

"Is that why you can't catch them?"

"What makes you think we can't catch them?"

"Well it looks like you've covered this place in what must be hundreds of rat traps, and they are empty, so that is suggestive that you are unable to catch these rats. Also, it would appear that these particular rats, in addition to being smarter are also bigger, so that leads to my next question; Did you inject these animals with genetic material to amplify their cognitive processes?"

Elias hesitated. "Ahh, precisely what the experiment was, I can't recall. The fact is, the majority of our research involves testing medications for diseases on animals, but I'm not quite sure if that in the case of the mutant rats that was it, exactly."

"Did you introduce human brain cells into these animals?"

Peter stopped walking and turned to look at Elias for the answer to this question.

"I'm not really sure. My area of expertise lies more as a surgeon, so I can honestly say that I wasn't directly involved in that research."

"Answer the question, Dr. Wirtham. Do these rats possess partly human brains?" Peter demanded.

"No, of course not. We only grew human brains in mice," spouted Elias, relenting. "And while they are extra intelligent, they are a lot easier to control than these rats, let me tell you."

"You made human/mice chimeras?" asked Peter. "Why?"

"Because humanized mice hybrids are better test subjects for human applications like cancer research or Alzheimer's. Surely, I assumed a scientist of your experience would understand that."

"I understand the possibilities, Dr. Wirtham. What I often fail to grasp is the ethical rationalizing behind the experiment."

To this, Elias grumbled something, more to himself than to the others, and paused to pull a flask out of his pocket. After taking a swig, he pointed down the path. "We'll be coming to our small electrical building, just there over that rise. I'm not really sure what you were hoping to see on this little inspection, but we generally don't come down to this part of the island much. Usually only to check the traps, or do a bit of fishing."

"Hello! What's this?" announced Peter. He pointed to something that lay under a swarm of flies, in the shade of some luxuriant ferns. The group crowded around the unpleasant sight to try and figure out exactly what he had found.

"It looks like a rat, but with it's head ripped off. Look. There's the distinctive naked rat-tail," pointed Tom.

"It was a big rat," mused Peter. "How did you say you created these smart, super rats?"

Elias looked aghast at the grisly scene, with the blood spattered on the nearby plants. "Apparently they injected their embryos with genetic material to enhance their neuronal communication within the brain."

Tom looked at Elias, then at Pea-ulĪ, who was shifting back and forth on his feet uncomfortably like the guilty dog that is facing his master after just peeing on the living room rug. "Do you guys know what killed this rat? I mean, it's kind of weird. It's not really eaten. It just looks like it was caught and killed. But when you examine the body," Tom pointed at the carcass with a stick. "Pulling the head off like that would not be a very easy thing to do, nor is it normal animal behaviour that I've ever observed. What kind of predators do you have on this island, anyway?"

Elias crouched and moved his head from side to side as he examined the scene, obviously calculating something in his mind. Whatever he was thinking, his dour, stony expression did not change. Finally he stood up and said, "Well, I'm stumped. As far as I've seen, we don't really have many predators on this island, but I suppose there could be some shy hunters out there in the jungle that we don't know about, up until now."

As if to corroborate that statement, Tom began to feel intense tingling running up and down his spine. His eyes darted around, and he searched the faceless, suffocating jungle, for any sign of who was watching them. Now he felt like they were the ones being hunted.

"What is it?" asked Peter, in alarm.

Along with Tom, Pea-ulĪ started sniffing the wind, and Tom could swear he saw his ears twitching. Elias declared, "There's someone out there." He was about to pull out his gun, when six paramilitary figures, all dressed in black, materialized out of the forest, assault rifles drawn.

"Stop moving! All of you! Don't touch that weapon! Hands up! Now! On your knees!" The small group was swarmed by these efficient mercenaries, and one by one they were zip-tied with their hands behind their backs.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Elias. "You can't treat me like this! I'm the executive assistant to Dr. Hollister. On whose authority then, are you arresting us?"

"Sorry Doc, but Hollister was removed as head of this facility as of this morning. Now you answer to the new management, same as the rest of us." At this revelation, Elias meekly bowed his head, and allowed the soldiers to lead him with the rest of them, while quietly giving the command to Pea-ulĪ to submit as well.

"On your feet! Let's move!" The leader continued barking orders, and they all compliantly followed, to see where this next nightmare would lead them.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

The paramilitary soldiers led them through the jungle paths that wound their way to the main laboratory facility. They were ushered into a heavily guarded and modern medical biology laboratory, complete with scientists in white lab coats scurrying all over, accompanied by armed soldiers dressed in black and morose looking executives observing everything and checking off information on their tablets. Tom looked up grimly at the security cameras that were watchful over every inch of the building, along with the stone faces behind sunglasses of the private security contractors, ever ready with their rifles.

Amidst the flurry of activity, Tom's attention was drawn to a man who was being briefed by a group of scientists. His back was to them, but Tom recognized him, and after finishing his conversation and turning around, his attention was brought onto the detainees as well.

"Oh good, Peter, you made it back. I can't tell you how glad I am to see you in one piece. Commander, release him at once," Toby said to a soldier standing nearby. He looked on Elias. "You may release him as well. But lock up his creature down with the others," referring to Pea-ulĪ.

"You can't do that!" Elias protested. "He's my assistant!"

Toby looked him square in the eye, grim faced. "You're lucky we're not putting him down, Wirtham," Toby grunted. "I can't tell who's the greater monster, this soulless thing you have made, out of some sick, misguided curiosity; or you, for lacking the humanity to respect animals and their natural selection. You sicken me, sir."

Elias swallowed. "You may judge me how you like. But Pea-ulĪ is an intelligent, sentient being, and I daresay a good man. He didn't choose to be like this. So why punish him?"

"You said it yourself, doctor. No one or no thing would choose to be such an aberration. If we were to kill your monsters, we're not punishing them. We're liberating them from an existence that is a curse. We're punishing their creators, and you deserve far worse. And to clarify, your genetic deviants are not men at all."

Tom looked closely at Elias, whose face did not betray any emotion. "What is he talking about, Elias?"

"Ah Tom, congratulations to be the first of your deluded faction to join the party. You mean you haven't figured it out? These creatures were never hominids, like Connors who added some foreign DNA to his system, wrong as that may be. No, Wirtham and the 'esteemed' Dr. Lily Hollister have been playing God with even more volatile materials. They've been creating chimeras that if they ever were to escape, would threaten humankind's very existence. This so called 'assistant' of Wirtham, is a ridiculous hybrid of a bear and a dog, with some human brain cells injected into a terrible, genetic mess. He does not fit in or belong to any habitat of the biosphere, as his perpetual state of confusion demonstrates that even the so-called 'gift' of self-awareness was an act of cruelty. So the answer is no, Wirtham, and perhaps it would be better leave you in detention for now, as well. You can join your boss in confinement to your quarters. And Dr. Morgan, who's this?" Toby asked, referring to Somchai, the pirate.

"He's one of the sailors I hired. He's fine."

"Alright, I'll release him to your charge, Peter. As for Mr. Jones, take him to Dr. Kasady. He may be useful. And we'll see if you still feel so noble about your ill-advised stance on the legitimacy of polluting the human and animal gene pools when you get to see with your own eyes the horrific consequences of such morally reckless philosophies."

Tom was led further into the fascinating building to what appeared to be the main control room, as it was furnished with monitors, radios for making announcements, and numerous computers. Tom's attention was then drawn to the occupants of the room. There were the token armed guards, as usual, but more interesting were the two debaters who were involved in a very spirited discussion.

Tom recognized the man to be Guy Kasady, and although the woman was unknown to him, he figured that she must be the famous, or infamous, Dr. Lily Hollister.

She looked younger than Tom had pictured, maybe in her mid to late forties. She was very energetic, and was definitely more than an equal contender for quarrelling with Guy. Her long white hair was pulled into a simple ponytail, and her gently lined face was still pretty without any makeup.

"Even a deluded and misled scientific despot like you must realize when the battle has been lost!" yelled Guy. "It's over! You will not be permitted to experiment again on these poor creatures! Now do yourself a favour, and cooperate with us, for Christ's sake!"

"If you think that you can destroy my research with your suits, and your money, and your private armies, than your pea brain betrays your delusion," replied Lily with a frosty calm and her arms crossed. "What I and Dr. Connors have accomplished already cannot be stopped. Our medical advances are so overly groundbreaking that they have propelled humanity into a new age of genetics and the way we view medicine. Your hidebound conservative views only serve to blind you as to what the future will be, while you blindly guide the establishment into preventing more from enjoying our state-of-the-art discoveries."

"Well if you truly are sitting on top of miraculous cures and discoveries as you so claim, then type in your password and allow us access to the mainframe so that Oscorp may use the proper resources and connections to actually help people, if that is really your concern!"

"Hah!" Lily retorted. "You think you can fool me with such pathetic sentiment? I know what we've accomplished, and I didn't become a scientist to seek approbation from lesser minds such as yours."

"But how are you going to implement your discoveries-?"

"If I give you access to the mainframe your will either delete all of my findings and data, or you will bury it so deep that no one will be able to find it."

"I swear, Hollister, you will regret ever crossing me."

"You're wasting your breath, you maladroit oaf. If you want mind-blowing scientific breakthroughs, then try dedicating your life in a lab by putting your very soul into your research, as I have, and then we'll talk. But if you just want to steal my life's work so that you can destroy it, then how could you possibly expect cooperation from me?"

"Hollister," Guy growled, "this whole operation is illegal and classified. So whatever happens to you here, just remember the articles of the Geneva convention do not apply."

"Whoa! Let's everyone just calm down a bit here!" Toby interjected, wearing a disturbed expression, "We are not animals that must snarl and tear each other apart."

Lily Hollister actually smiled and looked amused at Toby's arrival. "You're right Doctor Ock. Excellent observation! We are not animals. We are a species far more wicked indeed. We invest in mutually assured destruction, and escalate violence to new heights of deviousness."

"But it doesn't have to be that way," Toby was using his most self-possessed voice, but it came out sounding patronizing. "We can cooperate so that no one is the loser. But you must understand that we will find out the contents of the computer mainframe with or without your help. And you must understand that it would be in _your_ best interests if we collaborated."

"Do you really think you're any different than Dr. Carnage, here, because you talk to me in a smooth tone of voice?" she said, referring to Guy. "You can strangle someone with a silk scarf just as easy as you can cudgel them over the head, and you may pretend to act civilized, but you are threatening me all the same if I don't give you what you want. Well here's a threat for you: what's to prevent me from ruining your little party when we get off this island and telling the world about Guy Kasady's itchy palms?"

At this statement, Toby's eyes narrowed into slits, and Guy put his hands on his hips and scoffed. Tom, who was just being introduced to the strange dynamic of the conspirators, was greatly curious as to what Lily was referring. As she saw that she had a captive audience, she continued, "Yeah, that's right, Auchmann. I suppose you thought I didn't know about Kasady and his little scam with his buddy, Jackson Wheele; short-selling Oscorp stock the day after Dr. Connors' murder." She turned gleefully on Guy. "You fiends must have made a fortune! But wouldn't the shareholders love to know the details behind that original scheme, not to mention the SEC. So you see, Doc Ock, why I have trouble believing that you would just let me go free after this. My guess is, the plan is for me to never leave this island."

"Oh that can be very easily arranged, lady!" spouted Guy.

"Silence!" roared Toby, losing his customary cool. "You've already sold our moral authority with your greedy opportunism, you will not have history condemn us as savage butchers, as well."

Guy appeared to smart from that remark. He motioned to a soldier standing nearby. "Corporal, escort Dr. Hollister to her quarters, if you please." Lily eyed Toby and Guy as she walked away with a smug grin. 'Like shooting fish in a barrel,' her look seemed to say. She already provoked Guy's ire, but now she had managed to redirect it. Once she was led away, Guy said, "You know what, Ock? I'm starting to get a little tired of your naive approach to our whole enterprise here. You say that you don't want the world to see us as butchers? What do you think we're doing here? Or what do you think was the point of hiring mercenaries to help us get what we wanted? I'm afraid that the line where the world sees us as the Care Bears was crossed a long time ago."

"You dare to mock me, after this unveiling of your corruption? We agreed that Dr. Julian Connors had to die, because it meant saving humanity! We all swore that there could be no higher cause for justice! And we knew that we would have a challenge to defend ourselves to those who would disparage us by claiming that we undertook this intrigue for some selfish purpose. Your moral inconstancy has led you to make these careless decisions that, despite much planning, leaves us in a precarious position."

"This is precisely what I was talking about when I said you are naive. Only a callow youth would start a war thinking all could be solved by analytics and logic. That is why modern corporations need to hire security contractors. Because the nature of who has the bigger gun will resolve a question more convincingly than a rational argument."

"I may be callow to many things, Guy, as you point out, but I will never admit that a logical method is inferior to foolhardy, spontaneous action."

"You view my active nature to be foolish, do you? I do not disagree that being methodical is necessary. Knowledge is only useful if it is practical, and it is my empirical experience in the world that has gotten us this far. We all know you're smart, Toby, but don't try to get smart with me. It's my unbending logic that will enable us to defeat our enemies when we're backed into a corner."

"Well your harsh wisdom is part of the reason we are backed into the corner, as you put it. And I daresay that your moral pragmatism has not helped our position."

Guy smiled wryly and shook his head, "You are such a pompous prick."

"So now we'll just resort to name calling, I guess. If that solved anything, I could say a few choice things myself."

"Seriously, Toby, I'm warning you-"

"Yeah, like you warned Hollister. I heard you. You expect to frighten and bully everyone with your rash violence, or your crazy stares?"

Guy threw up his hands. "Go screw yourself!"

"Is that all you have to say, after your betrayal? We entered into this mission knowing that we may have to pay the highest price. And that is the end fate has in store for us unless we can defend ourselves, here and thereafter armed with the evidence of the crimes we have found here. But if we fail, the world will look upon us as envious murderers, whose demise is one to be pitied."

"It would appear that you're giving up."

"I'm laying out the facts, so that we may plan accordingly. You claim that you are capable of getting us out of a predicament. If you truly are the better soldier, then put your money where your mouth is. If you have a meritorious strategy on how to bring us the victory, then nothing would please me more."

"Arrogance is disagreeable on you, Ock. I never claimed to be a soldier; I'm just realistic."

"I agree with you there. If we are to be realistic, then we must accept the fact that we may need to destroy this place, to keep it out of the wrong hands."

"Are you proposing a suicide attack?"

"I know the notion of dying here as martyrs is most invidious, both to you and to me. So I was proposing that we get working on building up our defences. Also, you no doubt have noticed who I have here with me."

"I was wondering how Tom Jones came to be here."

Now that his presence was finally acknowledged, Tom chimed in, "While it's a beautiful thing to watch a lovers' quarrel lead to the renewal of their love, I would just be in the way. May I leave the two of you alone, now?"

Toby and Guy ignored him. "I brought him in here because I thought maybe he could use his computer skills to help you sort out your complications with accessing the mainframe," Toby said.

"Well, why didn't you say that from the beginning?"

"I tried, I tried. But you were already having your hissy fit when we got here, and were preoccupied with your culpability over the stock market collusion."

"I swear, your self-righteous act is really starting to wear thin. How do I know that you won't sacrifice me to Iraklis and Osborne when they come for their revenge?"

"Save your self-pity for the possibility of our defeat. And channel your rage into the ensuing battle."

"You should apply your prescription, Doctor, and properly direct your own anger and rage."

At this moment, a group of soldiers briskly walked into the room, Lieutenant Adriana Soria, followed by Commander Frank Castle, Captain Mike Hall, and a Field Artillery Firefinder Radar Operator, Adrienne Toomes. "What's wrong?" asked Guy.

"With respect sir, we're behind in our defence preparations, and your presence is requested to authorize some fortifications," said Adriana, matter-of-factly.

"What she's saying is, we need to put to rest the petty squabbling and get to work, sir!" Frank Castle said sharply, looking straight ahead and snapping to attention.

"You got some nerve, Commander, to talk to us like that," Guy snarled.

"Why? Because he was being honest with you, Guy?" Tom charged. "Count yourself lucky that you have people around you telling you the truth and not flooding sunshine up your ass when there is none. You'll find there are only two kinds of people who will be honest with you like that to your face: an enemy who has lost his temper and a friend who actually loves you dearly. I'm not sure which category Castle falls into," he added, chuckling to himself.

"You always were cynical, Tom." Guy replied.

"Not to mention cheeky," said Toby. "Make yourself useful by getting us into this computer system," he said, pushing Tom into a chair. "And keep your sass to yourself. If you're not smart enough to know by now that you chose the wrong side, God help you. Your impertinence only serves to display your foolishness."

"Let us be off to see to our preparations, although I'm not sure we will be able to hold them off," Guy fretted.

"Brave men rejoice in adversity, Guy, just as brave soldiers triumph in war." Toby nodded his head to Castle as he said this, who smiled approvingly.

"Even so, we should have a contingency escape plan in place, in case things go bad. It would be a shame if you couldn't see Kerry again," said Guy, slyly.

"But if this should be our end, I need to bet one thing against my dying day - that any failings I've allowed must die before I do. Commander, Captain, Lieutenant: make sure the island's self destruct mechanisms are operational, to ensure that nothing gets out of this place, should it come to that. We need to protect the world from the monsters Connors has created."

Mike Hall had briefly gone out, but then returned with Elaine Colls, a Weapons Engineer Officer. At this they tried to get out of earshot of Tom, but he could still make out what they were saying, despite their hushed tones. "Okay Captain. What news have you got for us?" asked Guy. "Officer Colls, what are we looking at?"

"Iraklis and Osborne have finally been able to regroup after our delaying tactics slowed them down in the mainland, but now they are coming at us with what appears to be their full force. Looks like they have at least five gunships, three helicopters, and a variety of smaller, faster boats with which to land their troops. We're expecting them to be here at first light tomorrow."

Guy looked at Toby. "This is bad. We should cut our losses and get out of here. Or, we can leave the mercenaries to hold them off and destroy the facility while we retreat to fight another day."

"That would never work for at least two reasons," Toby hissed. "One, our escape is cut off by this invasion. And two, the security contractors would never fall on their swords for us like that. We'd have a mutiny on our hands."

"But Toby, this is real! What endgame do you imagine here? We could all be killed!"

"It is uncertain where Death awaits us, my friend. Therefore we must expect it everywhere. In the meantime, the Commander assures me we have gun turrets in place on the beach to complicate any attempts at a landing. And we have tunnels dug that lead away from the beach to the main compound to effect a retreat and counterattack when it comes to that. I have the utmost confidence in our troops, as Commander Castle and Captain Hall have already proved their worthiness in my eyes. In addition to our battle plans, we have the cause of right and virtue on our side. So let us stand ready and confident, and brace ourselves without flinching for whatever fate decides to hurl at us."

Tom sat at the computer workstation, testing for ways to bypass the security to access the mainframe. Not that he was particularly eager to help his enemies but curiosity continued to compel him to want to see what secrets lie dormant in Julian Connors' secret hard drives. After a scant few attempts that surprised even Tom himself, he was able to hack into the system.

As the information sealed in the computer unfolded before his eyes, Tom was truly astonished at the data he was looking at. Dr. Hollister had experimented on no small number of animals and their genetic codes, mixing their traits together to create new species and give them special or increased abilities. Many of the experiments involved injecting diversified sorts of human DNA, generally with the goal of increasing intelligence, but oftentimes with the purpose of homologizing the animals to be more compatible for testing medications and products with human applications.

Many of the outcomes had been remarkable, from a biologist's point of view. There had been accidents to be sure, such as the super mutant rats escaping and multiplying on the island. And the attempts at applying cross-species genetics to living tissue and subjects had been impaired by problems of degeneration of the foreign DNA. "I guess Connors never got the opportunity to transmit the solution to the decay rate algorithm," thought Tom.

At this point, Toby noticed that Tom had accessed the network and came running over. "Hey! Stop what you're doing there, if you please! I appreciate your assistance in accessing the mainframe but I'm afraid that is where my confidence in you ends. Private, if you would please escort Mr. Jones away from here to a cell," he said, motioning to the nearest guard.

As Toby sat at the computer, eagerly prepared to delve into its secrets, suddenly a warning message flashed on the screen.

**git push heroku arvad**

**You don't exist, go away!**

**fatal: The remote end hung up unexpectedly**

Tom was beckoned back to the computer, and was able to fix the problem by flushing the cache, but then, as Toby sat down again at the computer, a video appeared and began to play.

"What's this?" asked Toby, as Tom shrugged in puzzlement.

As the video began, Tom and Toby found themselves staring at Julian Connors' smiling face, lighting up the screen. He began, "If you are watching this, then no doubt you have made some discoveries of our humble facility. Before you rush to any judgements faster than a rivers' progress toward the ocean, take a moment to try to avoid what would not only prove to be a self destructive course in conflict with the ghost in the machine, but also, more significantly, a futile attempt to forestall progress that is for all attempts and purposes; inevitable. Just as Moore's Law has demonstrated the astounding trend in computing advances, so too this principle can be applied to technological progress as a whole. To quote Pablo Neruda, 'You can cut all the flowers, but you can't keep the spring from coming.' So likewise with human advancement and technological progress, it is veritably _inevitable_. Should you choose to follow bad policy, you may succeed in slowing the progress, but progress cannot be stopped. The bigger the breakthrough, the faster the visionless policy makers will find themselves steamrolled as human society drives relentlessly forward behind science and reason. May these words serve to guide you into the successive advances of the Human Condition and may we all learn to work together to find mutual success in our New Atlantis."

The video went black. Toby looked shocked; shaken even.

"Well that was weird." Tom's voice broke the tense silence.

Toby's head twitched, as if he was awaking from a daze. "Private, I thought I told you to confine Jones to a cell." The guard grabbed Tom by the arm and pulled him out of the room, while Toby sat in front of the computer, his hands pressed against his lips, lost in thought.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Mark Iraklis peered out through the windshield of the Executive gunboat, awestruck by the beauty of the tropical sun slowly starting to sink into the ocean, while going over in his mind the invasion strategy for the morrow. Now that they were underway, he was feeling quite confident, both in the plan and in the calibre of his troops, but his attitude towards his worthy confederate was different altogether.

Iraklis cringed at the now familiar sound of Harry Osborne barfing in the lavatory of the bridge. "I'm surprised that you've got anything left to give," he dryly called out.

Osborne staggered out of the lavatory and collapsed in a chair. "I don't know if it's the water or the sea travel, but I literally cannot keep anything down."

"Well, you look terrible," said Iraklis encouragingly. "Have you considered the possibility that it's your nerves acting up on the eve of your first battle?"

Osborne's menacing glare came across more dreadful marked by the shady circles under his eyes. "I recognize that you will never tire of reminding me of my lack of military experience. Well, you'll see how tenacious I am in pursuing my goals, soon enough," he said bitterly.

"Yes, but I respect you for recognizing your limitations as well," responded Iraklis goadingly. "Appointing Vitaly as direct commander of your forces was the right decision, I can see."

Osborne said nothing to this, but just drank from a bottle of seltzer.

"So are you going to observe the battle from my Command boat, then?" Iraklis asked.

"Certainly not," spouted Osborne. "Vitaly may direct the landing and subsequent battle, but I retain my position as Commander in Chief," to which comment drew a sardonic smile to Iraklis' lips. "I will return to my ship presently. I just wanted to have a word with you first. What are you grinning at?"

"Nothing," chuckled Iraklis. "I just never grow weary of your enthusiasm for grandiose titles."

Osborne rolled his eyes, but seemed too exhausted to offer a retort. "I just wanted to make sure that you understand our adversaries. They are not soldiers either, and will wish to fight us with delaying tactics and escape, provided they are able to gather the evidence they seek, with which to damn us."

"Well, therein lies our strategy. We will be sure to cut off any chance of escape."

"And if they refuse to come out and fight, instead choosing to hide and using their troops to attack us in battles of attrition?"

"Our forces will be sure to draw them out, there is no doubt about that," declared Iraklis. "And even if they so chose, they would not be able to hide forever. So Vitaly has approved of the plan? My forces will approach to the north of the island, while yours will land to the south."

"That is the other thing. I feel that it should be my forces that approach from the north, while yours attack to the south."

"What difference does it make? Why does Vitaly make this change?"

"As you said while drawing up the plan, the south is more marshy, and my troops have more experience landing on proper beaches. Do not try to leave us at a disadvantage, Mark."

"It was not meant to be a disadvantage, but rather a surprise, outflanking manoeuvre to come the way of the marshes. Well, fine. I don't understand why Vitaly would question me like this, but fine. We'll do it your way then."

"It wasn't Vitaly who wanted the change, but you're right, we'll do it my way," concluded Osborne, as the two men glared at one another.

Tom sat in his cell, contemplating when would be the ideal moment to effect his escape. He certainly did not plan on sitting out the next eventful day. He was broken from his deliberation by the sound of the lock being opened. He looked up to see Dr. Elias Wirtham opening the door.

"Elias! Good to see you. But how did you get out?"

"One of my faithful assistants let me out. I think with all the preparations for tomorrow, these new managers are too preoccupied to notice that I'm not confined to my room. Come! I have something I'd like for you to see." Elias motioned Tom forward to leave his prison.

"Alright. What's going on?"

Elias talked in hushed tones. "Judging from what I've managed to overhear, it sounds as if they're preparing for a bloodbath tomorrow. And perhaps the one person who could do something to prevent this outcome, Dr. Hollister, has proven herself to be completely indifferent. I fear I must look to myself to get out of here alive."

"I'd say you're fears are justified. Do you want to make some sort of a deal?"

"You strike me as a reasonable person, Mr. Jones. If you help me to avoid the crossfire and then make an appeal on my behalf to the authorities, I'm willing to make sure you don't die here in your cell as well."

"Agreed. But what has absorbed the attentions of Dr. Hollister so that she would completely ignore a war on her doorstep?"

Elias was leading Tom further into the testing facility, where they encountered fewer soldiers and more people in lab coats, rushing around with files, test tubes, and other research equipment, trying to save and protect what they could. "They're battening down the hatches," said Elias, looking at Tom. He handed Tom a white coat, as he put on one as well. "Put this on. We don't want to attract undue attention to ourselves. I think the soldiers would rather focus on their battle preparations then deal with this unsettling aura of pandemonium in here."

They entered into a large testing area, where large animals were miserably occupying enclosures. Especially the apes caught Tom's attention. "What were you testing on these animals?" he asked. He paused to look carefully at a chimpanzee whose compound was labelled 'Caesar.' As he examined the smugly impassive face of the chimp, Tom could swear that he saw intelligence burning in his eyes.

"Like the vast majority of our research, we were studying disease and testing treatments. But to accomplish that, Dr. Hollister's idiosyncratic field of expertise was creating hybrid test subjects that were closer to humans biologically. Caesar, for instance, is unparalleled in his cognitive abilities as an ape." Elias approached Caesar and started talking to him in sign language.

As Tom watched, he was amazed at the complexity of the conversation. "Those aren't just simple signs you're using with him," he said, as Caesar signed back, even putting emotion and grunts to punctuate what he was saying.

"You can talk with Caesar just like talking to a human," said Elias, proudly. "And be careful what you say. He understands English perfectly as well." Elias turned back to face the ape. "Yes I am aware that some of the rules have been broken. Believe me, we are going to investigate and prosecute the guilty." Caesar signed something else that ended with the ASL sign for question mark. "No, Shastra is otherwise engaged at the moment and cannot be bothered to attend to your concerns. Rest assured, my dear Caesar that we will give this matter our undivided attention."

"Who's Shastra?" whispered Tom.

"That is the name that Lily goes by amongst the animals. It is a Sanskrit word for 'knowledge', but more specifically 'rules.' She chose it because she sets the rules and Caesar especially appreciates the stability that her rules and knowledge bring. It bothers him when these rules are not abided by. No. I understand, my friend. Calm down and listen to me." The two of them were signing to each other furiously.

The conversation ended with Caesar looking upset and turning his face away from Elias.

"He doesn't look very happy."

"I was trying to reassure him," said Elias. "He can sense that something is wrong and was demanding to know what was going on. Basically he wants me to let him go, but I won't do that unless it's actually safe for him to be out and about." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I know for a fact that Auchmann and Kasady do not want our animals wandering around."

"Who's this?" asked Tom, pointing to the next subject, a Bonobo who stared malevolently back at Tom as he tried signing to the ape to ask him his name.

"This is Koba. He hasn't demonstrated the same levels of cognition as Caesar, and that's to be expected, since he was injected with human glial cells and not specifically the neurone. Glia are the cells that support nerve cells and strengthen the connections between them."

"What's wrong with him? He looks like he's been through the ringer." Tom could not take his eyes off of Koba's engrossing ugliness. He was covered in scars, blind in one eye, and in general just looked like a mean, old son of a bitch.

"Well, he's a veteran of testing various products, medicines and treatments. That's how we make the money to fund the research, and the drugs we have successfully tested have saved countless lives."

"Human lives, I guess," observed Tom. They continued on to encounter an empty enclosure that was labelled 'Guthrie,' where two men in lab coats were comparing notes. One of them Tom recognized right away. "Hello Peter. How are you?" Tom held out his hand for a shake.

"Tom. It is actually good to see you. So I see you've had the chance to observe Hollister's little house of horrors. You can't tell me that you haven't started to feel some doubts as to the ethicality of unrestrained experimentation."

Tom pursed his lips. "What are we looking at here?"

"Well I'm glad that you brought Dr. Wirtham. Elias, I want to know about this test subject that seems to have escaped, but I can't seem to get any useful information out of your assistant here," referring to the other man.

The other scientist started to raise his hands in protest, but Elias interrupted him. "It's okay, William. We obviously have a problem here, and it would be good to enlist the help of Tom and Dr. Morgan. So it would seem that Guthrie has escaped."

"Uh yes, that is the situation, sir," said William, with a bit of a whiny voice.

"I suspected as much when I returned to the island and saw a dismembered rat in the woods."

"Who, or what is Guthrie?" asked Tom.

"Be careful what you ask, Tom. I've already learned that this is a touchy subject around here," said Peter, drawing an angry stare from William.

"It's okay. I was planning on telling you anyway," said Elias. "In many ways, Guthrie is Dr. Hollister's crowning achievement. She was able to successfully to perform head anastomosis, or transplant the head of a wolf onto another body."

"As barbaric as that sounds, head transplants have been done before. Robert White transplanted a monkey's head onto another's body in the seventies."

"Yes, and many of us have practiced the Dr. White test here for preliminary research for Dr. Hollister to make history. She is going to perform a _human_ head transplant." William's eyes were practically on fire, he was so excited, while Peter looked at him with great disgust.

Elias continued: "Guthrie is obviously something entirely new. Dr. Hollister was able to grow a headless embryo using human stem cells and a wolf mother, so we had a matching headless body. Then she was able to develop a wolf that was a genetic match and also was born with human glial cells. Then came the really tricky part. We severed the wolf's head, which as you are aware, involved severing the spinal cord. We were able to re-fuse the severed cord by using cell-to-cell fusogens. And thus Guthrie, a healthy, intelligent wolf with a different body, was born."

"So, basically, you guys created the wolf-man," said Tom. "It's all very cool, but why did you do it?" Peter was so shocked, he couldn't even speak.

"The implications of this kind of transplant are enormous. We could help people that are suffering from broken spinal cords, for example. Or people with genetic diseases such as muscle dystrophies whose bodies lose more and more functions over time, eventually leading to death, could benefit greatly from this procedure. These diseases all affect the body but not the head. Should the head be transplanted, these afflictions would be left behind in the old body, while the new body would enable the head transplant donor to live a longer, healthier life. This would ultimately serve to improve the standard of living for the recipients and could potentially double their life spans. Up until Dr. Hollister's and Dr. Connors' research into creating animal-human hybrids, we've always hit a wall in the issue of immune rejection, but now, thanks to them, in the last few years, we've made some great strides."

Peter was finally able to find his voice. "There are at least two problems with your reasoning, Dr. Wirtham. The creation of a body that is a chimera is unnatural, and will result in the animal DNA becoming dominant unless it is given preservative treatments, and, need I point out the obvious, your star test subject is on the loose in the wild. Also, if I must explain the other difficulty, is the horrendous cruelty meted out on the animal test subjects for 'preliminary experiments,' as you call them. Now with computer advances, there are many alternatives to the intense tortuous experiments that you have performed. The lives and suffering of these animals is not worth the price you are paying for the data collected."

"Yes, computer models are the way of the future, and I for one am glad of it," agreed Elias. "But for a computer to factor a conclusion, data must be entered to create the model in the first place. Without these experiments, we wouldn't have the basis for the computer modelling programs. But yes, the fact that Guthrie seems to have escaped is greatly problematic. We must bring him in. Dr. Hollister is still studying him to prepare for what has become her new obsession: transplanting a human head onto a body."

"So how do you propose we hunt this Guthrie creature?" asked Peter.

"I suggest that we use the resources that we've created, such as Caesar over there," said Elias, pointing at the chimpanzee. "He is viewed by the others as the alpha, and he certainly could find Guthrie and bring him in better than any of the others. My only reservation with him is that he's devilishly clever, and he might try to pull something over on us."

"I have my man that I brought with us, Somchai. He could come along as muscle."

"I think I'd trust the ape before I'd trust your pirate," said Tom.

"Well, I didn't think you would approve so I didn't mention him earlier, but our security guard is a man by the name of Thomas Fireheart. He submitted to treatments where they spliced his DNA with the genetic traits of a mountain lion, so he is a skilled tracker. I suggest we bring him along as well."

"Yes, we will be quite the freakshow, but I suppose that is what it has come to," sighed Peter.

As the little group of hunters headed into the jungle, the animosity between Caesar the chimp and Thomas the tracker quickly became evident. Once, as Thomas was trying to stealthily walk along a path, Caesar, who was looking in the trees, accidentally bumped into him and stepped on his foot.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, dammit!" yelled Thomas haughtily.

Caesar responded by hooting and snorting, and then signing his rejoinder to Elias, who chuckled in response.

"Caesar doesn't appreciate how Thomas always treats him as inferior," said Elias in an aside to Tom. They walked through the forest brandishing tranquilizer rifles, although Elias had his trusty revolver on his hip, as did Somchai.

They came across more dismembered rat carcasses that convinced the group that they were on the right track. After walking past a beautiful waterfall and swatting their way through clouds of mosquitos, Thomas held his hand up, signalling the other five to stop, as Caesar sniffed the air. Somchai's head nervously jerked around from side to side and he raised his tranquilizer rifle. Caesar started hooting quietly, and Thomas glared at him and gave a sign to shut up.

"It's okay," said Elias gently. "There's a good chance that he already knows we're here."

They all whipped their heads around to the sound of a twig snapping, followed by a faint growl. Somchai really looked freaked out. His hand shook violently as he tried to wipe the sweat out of his eyes. Then he heard another sound coming from a different direction and saw a shadow moving through the trees. He dropped the dart gun and pulled out his pistol, firing indiscriminately into the trees.

The eruption of actual gunfire caused much consternation amongst all the living things in the area. A flock of birds came flying out of a tree and took to the sky with much cacophony. Thomas and Elias started shouting at him, and Caesar, hooting loudly, ran over to Somchai, first grabbed the gun and kicked Somchai in the midsection, all in one smooth motion. The pirate went tumbling backwards off the path.

Thomas yelled, and Caesar disappeared into the leafy undergrowth. Peter, Elias and Tom went running after where Somchai had rolled, but they made slow progress down the slippery slope that was cluttered with underbrush, roots, and rocks.

Somchai rolled roughly and landed in a muddy creek. He struggled to get up, but he had hurt his knee and his shoulder. He looked around, starting to panic, and pulled out a large knife. Caesar, from a tree, called to him, but Somchai paid him no heed. He started to hobble as fast as he could along the creek, when suddenly he noticed that something had changed. All the birds had gone quiet, and Caesar had disappeared again. He looked around, paused, and then continued as fast as he could.

Again a shadow seemed to flit across his peripheral vision. He stopped to look back and saw nothing. When he faced forward, a large, snarling figure collided with him with incredible force. The wind was knocked out of him, and he just had time to take a brief look at his attacker when his throat was ripped out.

Thomas Fireheart, followed by Tom, were the first to find scraps of Somchai's clothing and bloody footprints next to the creek. His body was nowhere to be seen. "Do you think he got away?" asked Tom, bemused.

Thomas sniffed the footprints and the slight breeze. "No. This was a kill."

"But why did he kill him?"

"The idiot shot at him and triggered his animal instincts. He was defending himself."

Peter and Elias finally managed to extricate themselves from the bushy slope and rushed over to where Tom and Thomas Fireheart were standing. "What happened?" asked Peter.

"He took him," concluded Elias, looking around. "Guthrie got him. He's gone. We should get out of here. We're too exposed."

"Dr. Wirtham is right," said Thomas, standing erect. "I've got an idea to lure Guthrie back into captivity, but we should start heading back before it gets dark. And where's that stupid monkey gotten off to?"

"I'd be careful if you're planning on going after Caesar, Thomas," warned Elias. "He's acting strangely. It seems to me that he has some sort of a plan."

"You overestimate him, Dr. Wirtham. He's an unreasoning beast, born a mere animal to be taken and destroyed. All of these creatures vilify the things that they understand not, and they in their destroying shall surely be destroyed. All of you'd best head on back. Use the rabbit paddock to lure in Guthrie and then capture or kill him. He's a dangerous beast, so I recommend that you all exercise the utmost caution in your schemes for him."

"Aren't you coming with us?" asked Peter.

"No, I'm more of service to stay out here and trail Caesar. If he is trying to escape, we'll know about it soon enough."

Tom, Peter and Elias were soon back at the compound, where they headed to the rabbit pen. Tom was immediately struck by the freakishly big, anthropomorphic eyes of the furry little animals.

"Let me guess," Peter was the first to comment. "You introduced human eyes into these rabbits, so that you could then perform the Draize eye test on the poor critters."

Tom was able to observe even from a distance, that some of the animals looked blind, with blank, clouded eyes, while others were red, swollen, and discharging fluid. But on a cursory glance of the group of probably fifty or more bunnies, the majority looked relatively healthy.

"You know as well as anyone, Dr. Morgan," said Elias, "that the differences in anatomy and biochemistry between the rabbit and human eye mean that traditional testing of irritating substances is subjective, and basically unscientific. But creating animals that resemble humans genetically is what makes us 'special,' and we've been able to conclusively approve and disqualify many products and chemicals for human use, thanks to these little conies."

"But the cruelty and the gratuitous suffering that you're subjecting these unfortunate creatures to is completely indefensible, Dr. Wirtham," said Peter. "Surely you can't look into the ridiculously large eyes of one of your blind hybrids and tell me that you don't feel the pain and suffering that you've caused?"

Elias seemed like he didn't know what to say. "We anaesthetize them before the tests," began Elias, looking ashamed. "If they suffer irreversible damage we immediately euthanize them to alleviate their suffering," he said quietly. Then he added, "I guess I try not to think about it. I just remind myself of the people and businesses that we're helping by providing accurate safety tests." Elias pulled out his pocket flask and took a swig.

"So now, the plan is to use these poor creatures as bait to attract, and hopefully capture, a bloodthirsty wolf-man? Do I have that right?" Peter reamed.

Elias gulped down his whiskey. "Pretty much."

Tom tried to cut the tension. "Don't worry Peter," he said, slapping him on the shoulder. "We'll be here to protect the bunnies, and you're armed with a pistol, aren't you?"

"No!"

"You might want to get one," said Elias, gravely.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Thomas Fireheart paused to look at the fire red sun as it started to sink behind Pago Pago, the tallest volcano on the island. It really was a breathtaking sight that he didn't stop to enjoy as much as he ought to. These days, Thomas lived for the excitement of the hunt and the thrill of the chase. In some ways you could say that that was what he was bred for, if he was a dog. As it was, he came from a family of skilled outdoorsmen. His family belonged to the Kickapoo tribe in Oklahoma, and he had learned to be an expert tracker from an early age.

There aren't a lot of employment opportunities in the backwoods of the American Midwest, so when he was offered a lucrative position with Oscorp, he seized the chance to be paid to hunt all kinds of interesting creatures.

What he wasn't prepared for, of course, was that almost all of these animals that he was tasked with controlling and keeping track of were genetically enhanced or modified, often in unexpected and altogether strange ways that gave the animals unfair advantages. So when the good Dr. Lily Hollister offered him a procedure where his genetic code was altered, intensifying his senses and augmenting his strength; benefits from having the DNA of a mountain lion inserted into his own chromosomes, he pounced on the opportunity.

He came across some banana peels, carelessly tossed to the side of the trail. Thomas poked them and inhaled deeply the scent of Caesar. He was making excellent progress in keeping on Caesar's tracks, as his handful of hasty attempts to throw him off had been unsuccessful, and Thomas was effortlessly hot on the trail.

There was a dull niggle in the back of his mind, warning him to proceed with caution, but before he could pause to give heed to this instinctive, cautionary notion, he would happen upon the next clue or strong scent of Caesar's trail, and again he would be off, running with feverish haste.

Thomas reasoned to himself that he had two advantages working in his behalf. He had the advantage that he was downwind, and a nice, stiff tropical breeze kept him apprised of Caesar's direction. The other advantage was that Caesar was heading uphill, climbing the trail that scales the volcano, and Thomas felt that this could only advantage him in his pursuit.

The spoor was clear, and the scent so fresh that Thomas was hurrying now, jogging at a very brisk pace, even as the trail led to go up the green slope on the south side of Pago Pago. Thomas sprinted up the green slide, pausing at the top to sniff the air. For a fleeting moment, he thought he had lost the trail, but shifting his position by scaling a projecting seam of sandstone higher up, the wind blew Caesar's scent right into his nostrils. He proceeded forward towards a small open space in the wild upheaval of rock. On the mountainside was a wall that rose perpendicularly. Seven metres on the other side was a sheer fall of thirty to forty metres. Thomas looked around cautiously, but when a gust of wind reached him from around the rocks, Caesar's smell struck him full in the face, almost as if Caesar had paused to rub his sweaty back against the rocks to relieve some painful itch. As it was, the scent was so strong and tantalizing to Thomas's heightened senses, that he virtually felt intoxicated by the proximity of his prey, so that he took off at full speed, running along towards where the trail continued through a small opening in a huge crag of rock that had fallen from the shoulder of the volcano.

As Thomas, who was now charging headlong the trail with the scent of Caesar full in his lungs, swung sharply around a projecting bulge in the perpendicular wall, the thought briefly crossed his mind that he should be on Caesar at any moment.

As he ran and came around the crag, his instinctive warning suddenly went off just as a hairy arm reached out and a battered petrol can slammed into the back of his head, knocking him face first into the volcanic soil as he slid towards the edge of the precipice. He pushed himself up so that his face was out of the dirt, and he found himself staring over the edge of a cliff where rocks spiked up from a hundred feet below. He quickly turned around to face his aggressor and saw Caesar's menacing scowl, still clutching the dented petrol can in his hand.

The look of absolute shock and surprise in suddenly coming face to face with his would be quarry was frozen into Thomas' features. After ten seconds had passed, Thomas felt like he had lived hours. He finally managed to find his voice, while Caesar's head moved slightly from side to side, impassively eying his opponent. "Steady. Steady. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to help." Thomas raised his open hand towards Caesar, who responded by twitching his head forward and grunting.

Thomas decided he needed to soothe Caesar into complacency. "It's Okay. It's Okay. I'm here to help. Let's just stay calm." He was practically talking to himself, trying to steel his own nerve. He waited until he felt that Caesar's breathing was becoming more regular.

Then, Thomas swiftly pulled out his pistol as fast as lightning. Alas, this was precisely what Caesar was waiting for, and just as quickly as Thomas tried to aim and get off a shot, Caesar hurled the petrol can with terrifying force. The can slammed into Thomas' hand and knocked him back, as the pistol went flying a short distance away. Thomas eyes focused on the gun, lying tantalizingly in a shrub on the side of the cliff. Caesar followed Thomas' gaze, and in one swift motion crossed the distance between them, swinging his bulk on his arms and kicking the unfortunate Thomas Fireheart with both feet, sending him careening, clean off the face of the mountain. Caesar watched stone-faced, as Thomas' body bounced grotesquely off the rocks below.

"Idiot!" Caesar grunted.

Commander Frank Castle had summoned a meeting with his captains in the main compound that lay to the west of the island, in the shadow of Pago Pago. He was tied in by short wave radios so that his troops that were entrenched to the north, and Dr. Kasady's contingent under the leadership of Captain Mike Hall, could listen to his final check before they went dark in preparation for the invasion. "This is the Commander. Remember that we have good defensive positions and can hold out longer than our aggressors. We also have our counterstrike heavy weapons platoons in position, along with our fleet of Comanche helicopters for counterstrikes. The plan is to hold out to reduce their strength and effectiveness to attack, and then cut off their communications with their supply base in Australia. We are well equipped, we are dug in. As long as we keep our heads, we will prevail. I will not tolerate any hotheads or self-proclaimed heroes who are out to prove how good they are at killing and end up coming unglued when the bullets start flying. Don't be too aggressive or trigger-happy under my command. I want you to make every shot count. Now let's get some rest, so that we're switched on and ready for action at 0400. Remember, I'm always in front of you."

After Castle's pep talk, Toby tried to force himself to go over once again in his mind the plan for the following day, but instead found himself reading the last messages he had received from his wife before their signals had been jammed.

"My dear Toby,

"I sincerely hope that you are well. It feels like you left so long ago, although I know it has only been a little more than a week. I check my phone obsessively for a message from you. I never leave my phone out of arm's reach, and I become very tense without it. Toviel and Tahlia like to laugh at me for this.

"Yana is enjoying a week in Boston. Please don't be upset if she becomes a Red Sox fan.

"I have decided to plant a garden, with tomatoes and herbs. I've read that gardening is very good for relaxation, and is the only guarantee that your vegetables really are organic. Wish me luck.

"I know that you tried to tell me that this 'business trip' of yours wasn't dangerous. Forgive me that I didn't believe you.

"I pray for you safety. Please come home soon.

"Sincerely, your loving wife,

"Kerry"

He wrote a final message and hit send, hoping it would make it out once the jamming was lifted: "My dearest Kerry,

"No doubt you have been sending me further text messages and emails, but nothing has been getting through for the last week. Thank you for the last message you sent on Wednesday. I've read it over and over.

"The cold weather will be coming soon, so be careful to always bundle up so that you don't come down with something. You should treat yourself to a spa this weekend. You deserve it. Get one of those cleansing and fatigue reducing treatments, along with a manicure.

"I know your mother worries for me, and I appreciate that. If she finds comfort in reciting her rosary, then I believe that the repetition and familiarity of these traditions do her well. But please continue to exercise due caution. The streets of New York are getting more dangerous, and violent criminals won't stop to respect your faith. Maybe you should even consider getting out of the city, and going to my parents place in Fishkill.

"I wanted to let you know that I am doing reasonably well, so there's no need to worry about me. "Army" life has been good for me. I have even managed to put on a few pounds; of muscle I believe.

"I've learned a lot of things about nefarious forces at work in our world these past few days, and not to alarm you, but please always be careful when visiting zoos or meeting with my colleagues. I've come to learn that many of these men are unscrupulous, and therefore cannot be trusted.

If I am unable to pass this on personally, I would like to say something to the children. Always do what your mother tells you. If I am not able to return, I want you to help your mother, treat her as the centre of the family, and help each other so you can all live vigorous, positive lives. With you in particular Toviel, I pray with all my heart that you become the kind of strong, tough-minded young man that your mother and your younger sisters can depend on. Yana, you are already a pretty tough little lady, so I'm confident about you. I feel sorry for your mommy because maybe she hasn't got that strength of character. I do regret that I had so little time to love you, Little Tahlia. Please grow up to be big and strong for me.

"I'm afraid I must close this letter, as we are putting out the lights.

"I will always love you, Kerry, and some part of me will live on in you and our children.

"Goodbye.

"Your loving husband and father."

Toby Auchmann was never, by nature, a sentimental man. As a scientist he had always prized logic and reason over emotion or demonstrative feelings. But he was softhearted with his immediate family, especially his youngest daughter, Tahlia.

Now when faced with the chimeric issue threatening humankind, he had chosen to weigh his future life as a family man, against not only the future of his own family, but of humanity itself. He knew what he was risking when he undertook the decision to assassinate Julian Connors. And now his thoughts and resolve were the same. If he failed to protect the human genome from corruption, and mutants were allowed to spread across the planet, then humanity itself would probably come under attack in a cataclysmic, worldwide ethnic cleansing.

Fighting, and even dying to protect the future life prospects of his children and the world in which they lived was a duty he felt he had to accept.

Even still, while feeling a sense of pride in his determination and sacrifice, he was blanketed by a lingering sadness that this could be the end. It really was so sad to fall in battle, he thought. He may never look into his wife's eyes again. He may never again hear laughter nor enjoy the soft sunlight upon his face. This is the end.

Tom and Elias sat around a cheerful campfire that was welcome in helping to stave off the surprising chill of the night air. Both were lost in their thoughts and were mesmerized by the flickering flames. Peter sat a short distance away, stroking a white rabbit on his lap.

Elias broke the pensive atmosphere. "Do you really think there will be a battle tomorrow?"

Tom answered without being able to take his eyes off of the fire. "It would seem that that is what it has come to. Neither side is willing to concede anything, and wants complete control over this technology. Also, if I am being honest, Iraklis and Osborne are out for revenge, so I don't think they'll be in a very diplomatic mood once they get here."

"Careful what you say, Tom," said Peter, while continuing to face away from them. "That's the side of the argument you chose and now you have to live with the consequences, same as the rest of us."

"I'm well aware of that," said Tom. "I think we're of the same mind in that we just wanted to develop medical research and technology to help people and save lives. But isn't that the twisted irony of the human experience? Sometimes it's the people you're trying to save that end up fighting you the most, and when you decide that you would like to save the world that is when you lose it. Obviously I neither intended to end up in this position nor did I envision it, but that is precisely why the path to hell is so damnably crowded."

"Well I guess one day we'll see who was right and who was wrong," said Peter.

Tom started poking the fire with a stick. "As in most disagreements, if we're only out to prove ourselves right, then battle is unavoidable. And by doing so, we have made it deeply personal. I'm afraid that not only has peace eluded us, but we tossed it aside, as if it was some ridiculous, quaint fairy tale, and in so doing have set ourselves on the one way track to ruin. It truly has proved to be a waste of resources and lives."

Peter looked down at the rabbit that he was holding. "It is my earnest prayer, that the time will come when we as a civilization look upon the murder of animals as we now look on the murder of men. He who is cruel to animals inevitably becomes brutal in his dealings with humans. We can judge the heart of a man by his treatment of animals. So discerns the ancient proverb: 'A right-minded man regardeth the life of his beast; but even the mercies of the wicked _are_ cruel.' How come, since the time of Abe Lincoln we've known that animal rights are on par with human rights, for that is the way of a whole human being, yet no progress has been made?"

"I think you may have answered your own question. How long did it take for the so-called 'free' world to acknowledge human rights for non-whites, women or minorities? The truth is that technology continues advancing at an astonishing pace, while no human, group, nation or corporation has made any success in establishing a stable platform on which to resolve moral and ethical issues. As mercurial mortals we unavoidably come to blows, and then as a matter of course, the last person still alive sets the standard," brooded Tom aloud.

"Wow. Listening to you guys is depressing," said Elias. I'm going to get some sleep."


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

A glimmer of sun began to reflect off the South Pacific Ocean like diamonds as the first of the gunships under Harry Osborne's command approached the north side of the island. Frank Castle watched attentively through his field glasses from his command post. Boats were landing on the beach, unloading vehicles, equipment, and troops. Lieutenant Sanders was standing nearby, waiting for orders. "Should we open fire?"

"Not yet," Castle commanded.

"The men wish to commence the attack. Especially the veterans who knew Connors from his military days," Lieutenant James Sanders said, him being one who had served with Dr. Connors in Afghanistan and knew him as an army medic. Castle just kept observing through the binoculars. Sanders got on the radio. "Hold your fire!"

Toby hung in the background. "Is this waiting game a good idea? They will soon control the beach if we don't offer some resistance."

Finally Castle spoke. "Wait until the beach is full," he spat. He watched Osborne's men unloading, all dressed in their green uniforms. "We want there to be more of these little green men for us to make our shots count."

"Little green men," Sanders snorted. "Little green goblins!"

Castle waited about three minutes. "Yes. Now. Let's go. Open fire!"

Sanders clicked the radio, "Commence firing!"

The machine gun pillboxes started shooting the men leaving the beach. Mortar shells rained down, aiming for the heavy equipment. And cannons that were hidden in the mountain also aimed at where Osborne's, mostly Russian security contractors were clustered together.

Markus Vitaly, who was in command of the troops, had been wondering at the ease of their landing. Now the gravity of his position was fully registering in his mind. " _Der'mo! Der'mo!_ Take cover!" he yelled. "Get off the beach!"

The troops ran and advanced, because there was no cover on the beach. Vitaly managed to lead a squadron of men who fought their way to the pillboxes, but once they had taken them, tossing in grenades, they found them empty. "They've all fallen back through the underground tunnels!" said Lieutenant Ivan Kutuzov.

" _Der'mo_!" yelled Vitaly, slamming his fist on the frame of the tunnel opening. As he was venting his frustrations a mortar shell landed right next to the squad, exploding and raining burning hot dirt onto their heads.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the island, Guy stood anxiously with Mike Hall, watching for any sign of movement. Visibility was not good, but Captain Hall was convinced that the marshy ground would be a poor choice from a tactical standpoint to try to land their boats and drive their vehicles. They were tasked with providing naval support in a maritime attack once Toby and Castle bogged down the bulk of the attack troops on the north side.

Guy was making calculations in his head, thinking of how quickly they could make an escape from their side, using the ships and helicopters that they had at their disposal. In his mind, he had already written off any hope of success in the battle, and was desperately waiting for the moment when he could convince his men that they should make a run for it. Communications were limited, so they were left to their own imaginations how things were proceeding on the other side.

Just as Guy was really starting to feel assured that he would not see any action, the sound of a cannon followed by the whistling of a shell cutting through the air jolted him from his reverie. "Get down!" screamed Private Nick Lewis.

"Incoming!" shouted Corporal Bart Hamilton.

The shell struck near them and exploded. "What the-?" asked Hall. He peeked his head out from behind their bunker to see Iraklis' gunboats on the other side of the marsh. "Are they attempting a landing?" Through the glasses, he could see Iraklis' soldiers pushing logs into the marsh to give their vehicles traction so that they could drive through the boggy soil.

"They're coming!" shrieked Guy. "I thought you said that this marsh was impenetrable! We're doomed!"

"Not even close, sir! The enemy has made a critical error. We can take them!" Mike Hall's eyes were alight with ferocity. "Open fire!" Their hidden cannons blazed to life and rained fiery destruction on Iraklis' troops, struggling to navigate the marsh.

Mark Iraklis watched from the command boat as his men prepared to undertake the most dangerous part of their plan. They had performed excellently in sneaking up this close without being detected, but they were still in a very precarious position. "Lieutenant! Report!" he barked into the radio.

"We are encountering heavy resistance and are having trouble finding solid ground to land the boats and drive the jeeps," reported Lieutenant Scott Washington.

"Just keep pushing forward! Steady," Iraklis commanded. "We'll provide the cover for you from the water. And then we're right behind you once you've secured the flank." His gunboats fired round after round at Guy's defences, but they were running out of time.

Captain Mike Hall watched the battle unfolding before him and decided it was time to move in on a group of unfortunate troops that were pinned down behind their boat. "I'm going to take them out," he announced to Guy. "You should go with E Squad and block access to the choppers."

"Right. Right," said Guy. "I can do that." But Guy remained frozen in place. Janice, Martin, and Adrienne Toomes, the Field Artillery Firefinder Radar Operator, then joined him in the bunker.

"How are you, Guy?" asked Janice.

"This is insane!" said Martin. "We were definitely not prepared for this!"

"Maybe you weren't, Martin. But we knew it would come to this in the end!" Guy snapped. "This is the price we pay for freedom, we must defend ourselves against threats from our neighbours, if we are to possess the surest guarantee of security, and live pleasant lives. Even if we must pay the ultimate price, we have enjoyed such full loyalty to our convictions, that even should one of us die prematurely, the others will not lament his death as though it called for pity."

After some fast but fierce fighting, Hall returned after neutralizing the enemy group.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"Uh, I was about to go," Guy stammered, "but then Martin and Janice showed up, and I thought that we should stick together. And it is a good reminder to you Captain, who is actually in command of this squadron," he said, haughtily.

Hall responded stiffly, "Yes, sir!"

"Well then, good work there, in securing that part of the marsh. Shall we make our way over to protect our aircraft? You and you," Guy pointed at soldiers Lewis and Hamilton, "You two come with us as well. You'll provide us with backup."

They went out to a Humvee and started making their way over to the landing pads. They were bouncing around on the rough terrain when a shell exploded next to their vehicle, sending them in a roll where they eventually landed in a ditch. They all scrambled out, having to help Janice climb out of a pile of glass and overcome her shock. Guy dragged out Private Lewis, who had been driving. He felt quite heroic, until he noticed that he had a gaping hole in his chest. "Leave him! He's dead!" urged Mike Hall.

They all ran behind a fallen tree. More explosions rocked the ground, falling close to them. "What do you want to do, General?" asked Hall.

"What?" Guy's eyes were bugging out of his head.

"We need your orders, sir! And we need them now, or we're dead! Do you want to retreat back to the bunker?"

Guy was beside himself with the desire to get off this God-forsaken island. "No! We continue on to the helicopters! Let's move!"

They all started running along the road. "Corporal! Cover our rear!" Guy commanded Hamilton.

They ran as fast as they could and were within sight of the landing area when they were strafed with machine gun fire. They all dove for cover but Hamilton got torn to pieces. "Quick! Into the jungle!" yelled Hall. They ran a short distance until they were well covered by branches and leaves. "Sorry, boss. But we needed to regroup." The sound of gunboats firing and shells exploding echoed in the distance.

Guy looked to Officer Toomes. "Can you get Dr. Auchmann on the radio?" he panted.

"No, sir! Our comms are out."

"We have to assume that the battle is lost. We should make our withdrawal from the island."

Mike Hall looked surprised. "How should we do that?"

"We go in and we take a helicopter. Then we live to fight another day."

"Would it really be that simple?" asked Martin. "And are we sure that Doc Ock's been defeated?"

"That's a good question," said Hall. "And no, it won't be simple. It's true, our troops lost control of the road and the bunker, so the enemy no doubt has guards watching the access road to the landing pads. If we were to undertake a plan, we should do some quick recon first so that we can deploy a strategy."

"Agreed," said Guy. "Martin. Take these field glasses and go see if there are any sentinels guarding the chopper pads. If there are, make a note of how many and what their rotations are. Captain, you take Janice to reconnoiter the terrain and see where would be the best access point to the landing pad. And Toomes, you come with me. We're going to try and get an idea how the battle is proceeding so we'll know what kind of timeframe we're dealing with here. Okay, let's move!"

From Iraklis' perspective, the battle was progressing considerably well, especially considering the unfavourable landing conditions. But Mark Iraklis had managed to achieve what gave him the most satisfaction in life: transforming a seeming obstacle into an overwhelming advantage. Because of the marshy conditions, their arrival had been completely unexpected and they had capitalized on the element of surprise and lack of discipline of Kasady's contingent.

Then Iraklis received a less then favourable update on how his partner and ally was faring on the north side of the island. "Operation Green is in complete disarray. Request immediate assistance to cover our retreat."

"Acknowledged. We will circle around the island to pick up who is remaining."

Iraklis grimaced. It seems that the attack was a tactical draw after all.

After an hour, Guy's small band regrouped with their intel. Captain Hall had been right; their squadron had indeed been overrun, and Lieutenant Washington was currently occupying their bunker. But curiously, they observed less enemy activity then expected, and they attempted to add up how many sentinels were left between them and the choppers. "We counted two by the main entrance to the helipad," reported Hall. "On the helipad, there are at least two Comanche helicopters that are fuelled and would be ready for takeoff after a four minute prep sequence."

"Good. Excellent. And we saw four doing rounds along the road," said Guy. "And you, Dr. Li? How many are guarding the helicopters?" asking Martin.

"I saw another two stationed by the helicopter." said Martin, nervously.

Everyone groaned. "Eight total! We'll never get past that many," said Adrienne Toomes.

"Are you sure?" asked Hall. "You said that the helipad was guarded by two sentinels? Now were they guarding continuously, or intermittently?"

Martin gulped. The truth was that he had spied on the helicopter by climbing a tree, and while up there, his jitters caused him to drop the binoculars, destroying them. So while it was true that he saw two guards, he did not know for sure how long they were there. But shame wouldn't allow him to admit failing his assignment and losing the field glasses. "I know what I saw," he said stubbornly. "I saw two soldiers in blue uniforms, continuously for five minutes, through your field glasses. During that time, they didn't leave their post."

"Okay," said Guy. "So there are two pairs of guards doing circuits along the road. And two continuously stationed at the Comanches. That is a lot of soldiers." He paused and put on his most profoundly solemn expression, the one he wore when he wanted his scientific colleagues to take him seriously. He looked at Martin Li. "You ever handle a weapon?"

At first Martin didn't realize that he was being addressed and didn't respond. When the question finally registered, he replied, "Who, me? No, I've never handled a weapon! I'm not a soldier, Guy!"

"Look Martin. I was trying to give you the simplest assignment, but you need to appreciate the gravity of our situation. And if I am going to get us out of this, then I am going to need every man."

"You're not suggesting that we attack the guards, are you?" asked Mike Hall.

"Yeah. We owe it to Lewis and Hamilton to take out those bastards before they can kill anyone else." Hall, Martin, Janice and Toomes all shook their heads in surprise and exchanged anxious looks. "We have practically equal numbers, and we have the element of surprise. Therefore we have the initiative so we can attack in the time and place of our choosing," insisted Guy, persuasively.

"Did you just read that in the army field manual?" asked Mike Hall, scornfully.

The truth was that Guy had read up on military tactics in the days leading up to their time on the island with the goal of survival a battle scenario, but this was his first opportunity to actually use any of the jargon. "I know what I'm on about. This is our best chance to live!"

Mike Hall walked past Guy. "General. A word in private, please." The two of them walked a short distance away.

Martin Li continued to shake his head and tightened the laces up on his boots. "Now I know that Guy has lost his mind. He was the one who wanted to start a war! And not just a war amongst corporations, either. Now everyone can see that his megalomania has caused him to lose touch with the real world. I mean, I'm just a psychiatrist and a scientist. I never trained for this kind of thing. I've never fired a gun in my life!"

Adrienne Toomes sighed and raised her eyebrows. "I haven't fired one since basic."

Martin did a double take. He looked at Janice, "Don't look at me," she said, "I just joined on with Oscorp to get my residency."

"Any chance you're a closet gun enthusiast?"

"My dad's a dentist and a navy vet, so he had a gun collection but he never let me near them," said Janice.

In their private aside, Mike Hall tried to reason with Guy. "Look, even for me, basic ground assault training was a long time ago. But you four are not even close to being an attack squad. And this is not the time to learn. Those aren't training officers out there. They're former Aegis operatives and are all seasoned killers."

Guy shook his head vigorously. "We don't have any choice. The battle is already lost and Ock has probably been killed. If we're going to get out of here alive, then we have to take out the guards if we hope to make an escape in the Comanche. We're also the only hope for any survivors from the north side, but not unless we act fast."

"But you're not getting it, sir."

"General."

Mike Hall bit his lip. " _General._ I don't think you understand. We cannot go up against an armed and defended position like the helipad. There's too many. They'll wipe us out in the first two minutes!"

"That's enough!" shouted Guy, losing his temper and drawing the attention of the others. Guy looked a little embarrassed and then spoke in a whisper. "Look, Captain. Under the circumstances it's important that you keep your cool."

"I don't believe I've lost my cool," said Mike calmly, but with a bit of a confused expression.

"I disagree." Guy sucked in his breath and looked around and then down, as if he was searching for the right words on the ground. "Look. I don't want to attack the helipad either, but it is our solemn duty to the world to get off this island to inform the media of the evils of creating chimeras. Plus we owe it to Lewis and Hamilton," he added.

Mike Hall maintained his expression of perplexity. "I fail to see what this has to do with Lewis and Hamilton."

Guy licked his lips and looked like he was really losing his patience. "Well that's why I'm the scientific administrator whose company is paying for this expedition and you're my employee."

Mike just puckered his face and nodded.

"Let us not forget that this is a military operation and I am your superior officer," Guy continued. "Dismissed."

Peter awoke to the sounds of explosions and gunfire in the distance. He sat up and saw Tom sitting in a crouched position and looking very fidgety. "Did you put the coffee on?" he asked good-naturedly.

"The invasion has begun," said Tom. "It's about to get pretty hairy around here."

"Things are pretty hairy here already, if you haven't noticed," chuckled Peter. "Don't you know we're hunting a wolf-man?"

Tom smiled. "You certainly are chipper this morning. The tropical air treating you well?"

Peter looked up and stretched. "Could be. I'm not sure. I think I'm finally done crying over this whole mess and now I just have to smile at the irony. I mean did you hear what I just said? We're hunting a werewolf! I guess vampires will be next."

"Don't even say that. I really don't want to know what else Dr. Frankenweenie has cooking up in the depths of her l'il house of horrors. Speaking of which…" Tom was interrupted by the arrival of a man of the most startling appearance. At the sight of him, Elias scrambled to his feet.

"Dr. Wirtham," he hissed. "Your presence is required by Dr. Hollister." Elias gulped.

The man had a very sinister aspect. He was large and extremely muscular; looking to be of Polynesian descent; he had a great shock of bushy black hair; and seemed very accustomed to having people obey his orders.

"What is it, Kanaka?" demanded Elias. "Surely Lily doesn't need my assistance at this very moment, when we are caught in the crossfire of a bloody war! Whatever it is, it can wait. I'm needed here to see to this imbroglio," he said, motioning to their Guthrie trap and all of the rabbits.

"Who is this guy, Elias?" asked Tom suspiciously. He was getting a very bad vibe off of Kanaka. Like he wasn't entirely human.

"He's just Dr. Hollister's errand boy. Well my days of marching to her orders are numbered."

"Look Doctor." Kanaka stepped menacingly close to Elias. "This isn't a request, it's a command. So you'd better fall in line or you're going to find yourself on the wrong end of a fang, you get me?"

Tom also stepped forward but Elias motioned him back. "It's okay, Tom. I'll go see what she wants and then I'll be right back here." He paused to turn to look at Tom as he walking away. "Sorry. You'll just have to kick Kanaka's ass later." Tom and Peter laughed.

Frank Castle smiled to himself. His defences were holding up particularly well. His side had enjoyed some lucky breaks, not the least of which included the recklessness of Osborne's troops in landing on the beach and being caught unprepared. The defence strategy that he and Auchmann had devised of holding back, retreating and offering few targets for their enemies to shoot at, while they on the other hand, had plenty, was working well. "We should be able to hold out like this for a while, just as long as Dr. Kasady can hold his side together," he said to Toby gravely.

As if on cue, the radio crackled, "Commander, come in."

"This is HQ. Report."

"Sir. The south side has been compromised. We are overrun. Over."

Castle set his jaw. Luck would only get you so far, he thought. He looked out over the battle as a plan began to form in his mind. "Sir? I recommend that we strike out at them now, fast and hot. They won't be expecting it. And if we can neutralize their positions here at the beachhead, and there at the tree line, then we could launch boats and even overtake their command unit."

Toby followed the plan and tried to weigh the gains and losses. "It's a bold move."

"Very bold, sir. If we pulled it off, it would certainly be a morale game changer, especially if we could capture or kill their general."

Toby nodded his head. "Let's do it. Make it happen, Commander."

"Right you are, sir!"

Markus Vitaly and his lieutenant Ivan Kutuzov were pinned down behind a ridge near the beach, taking heavy fire. "If we stay here we're dead!" shouted Vitaly. "Take your unit and fall back to the boats, hugging the tree line. I'm going to regroup with what troops we have left at the beachhead and try and salvage this operation. Go! Go!"

Vitaly and a few soldiers went running as fast as they could as they bravely attempted to cross the open space between the ridge and the beachhead. Explosions and mortars landed all around them. A few of them fell. Then a big shell landed ten metres in front of Vitaly and exploded, blowing him back through the air. He landed on his back in a pile of palm leaves and ash, knocked unconscious.

Kutuzov and his unit of ten men also went scrambling along the beach as fast as they could, while trying to gain some cover from the camouflaging trees. They were in sight of the boats, when almost the whole battalion of soldiers dressed in black advanced on them in a surprise attack. The GRU's were caught off guard for this manoeuvre and in their panic, broke formation. Soldiers in green uniforms went running in all directions and were cut down by machine gun fire, and even hand to hand combat.

As Auchmann's squadron made their advance towards the boats to attack all the enemy positions, Kutuzov recognized the large man in black that was giving the orders. "The Punisher!" he coughed. This man's reputation as a field commander and all around soldier preceded him and was evidently well deserved. But Kutuzov himself was a veteran of many bloody wars in Chechnya, Ukraine, and other brutal fields of battle, and wasn't one to come unglued when the chips were down. He rallied what men he still had with him, and launched a counterattack.

Harry Osborne was at the head of the Command gunboat, clutching the toilet in the latrine. While he would never publicly admit it, he was very grateful that he had Mischa to take the lead in the battle, because his nerves were so bad that not only could he not give orders, he couldn't even follow the progress of the battle. He retched again into the toilet bowl. "Blah! Will this madness never end?" he complained.

Just as he was really feeling sorry for himself, the cabin rang with the horrible cracking noise of bullets grinding against the hull, glass and steel. "Oh my!" Harold declared. "I think the battle is coming here after all!" He dashed out of the latrine and braved a furtive look outside. He got a glimpse of enemy soldiers advancing towards boats on the beach. "I have got to get out of here!"

Harold considered starting up the gunboat and escaping, but he realized as his adrenaline pulsed through his body that the smaller, faster boats would quickly overtake him. "Think! Think! Think!" he tapped his fingers.

Then he remembered something. He had almost forgot that he had brought a prototype of body armour that his father had developed at Oscorp when weapons manufacturing was their mainstay. He went to his locker and methodically pulled out each component of the armour. He put on each piece and locked it into place. He pressed a button and all of the plates fused together.

His battle suit also came equipped with special grenades and a fully protective visor for his face. He ran out onto the deck of the gunboat just in time to see Castle's men fast approaching in boats. He ran to the far side and leaped into the water.

Toby's soldiers were soon aboard Harold's command boat. They called on the radio to Castle. "There's no sign of Osborne!"

"He must be there! He's just hiding!"

The squad leader, a Private Johnson, took out his bayonet and started slashing Osborne's bunk, seeing if Harold was making a desperate attempt to hide in his mattress. But they came up empty.

While Castle's troops fruitlessly scoured the boat, Harold was floundering in the ocean. The weight of his battle armour took him straight to the bottom. "Great!" he thought. "Now I'm just going to drown down here!"

Some electronic controls lit up on his forearm, and he saw a button with an icon that looked like waves next to it. He pressed the button out of desperation, causing small turbines to start spinning under his shoulder blades. Using controls in his palms, he upped the power and managed to propel himself to the beach where he dragged himself out of the water. He lay there for a few moments, and then willed himself to his feet. When he did so, he caught the attention of his pursuers who managed to bounce a few lucky shots of his armour. "Dammit!" Harold shouted.

They were still out of range, but he lobbed an orange grenade a few meters in front of him. It exploded, creating a colossal splash and a shockwave that sent Harold flying backwards into the mangroves. Harold rolled over as water, and mud continued to rain down on the area. He crawled further into the swamp and lay low amongst the muck and the tree roots. As the soldiers cruised past in their boats, for the time being unable to find their prize, Harold vomited into his helmet.

Frank Castle's eyes studied the beach, looking for signs of where Osborne could have made his escape. His radio crackled: "We have possession of their command ship."

"Good work, Private. Let's start searching for Osborne's escape route. He couldn't have gotten far." As he said this, the sun reflected off of the Russian guns in the corner of his eye. "Incoming!" he shouted as Castle and all of his men hit the dirt. Bullets whizzed overhead from Lieutenant Ivan Kutuzov's counterattack. Castle and his men were pinned down out in the open. "We're sitting ducks if we stay here!" he shouted. He pulled three grenades off of his vest and launched them at the enemy, while breaking into a run. His squad followed right behind their commander. The grenades hit the ground ten meters in front of them and exploded, creating clouds of dust and smoke.

Kutuzov's men stood, disoriented, when Castle's men came roaring out of the smoke, guns blazing. The two squads became involved in intense close and hand to hand combat. Frank Castle came charging into Kutuzov, tackling him to the ground. The Russian managed to regain his balance, and while on his back, flipped Castle a few meters away. Kutuzov was back on his feet with his combat dagger out, aiming for the kill when Castle unloaded two shots into Kutuzov's abdomen with his sidearm. Kutuzov staggered, and mustering his strength, came at Castle for one last lunge with the knife. Castle dodged the blow, and grabbing his arm, flipped Kutuzov over, head over feet and came crashing onto the packed ground, a snapping noise coming from his neck.

Regrouping with his men, Frank Castle went back to their command post, the field being theirs.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Guy Kasady, Mike Hall, Janice Lincoln, Martin Li and Adrienne Toomes huddled around a diagram made of sticks for their briefing on Guy's great and masterful plan of attack on the Comanche helipad.

Guy announced, "So I will be explaining this plan of attack in five graphs. Graph 1: Situation. The situation is that we are stranded on the south side of Noble's Isle and are facing eight enemy guards who are preventing the takeoff of our Comanche helicopter, that is our means of escape from this military setback. For the moment there are no other friendly forces present."

Martin came over and approached Captain Hall quietly as Guy went through graphs two and three. "What the hell is this graph business?"

Mike Hall explained. "It's a five paragraph order. It's a basic command tool that is taught in Officer Candidate school." He paused and then added, "It's just not usually used this literally out in the field."

"Graph Four: Execution," Guy continued. "We will assault the Comanche helipad from the northwest using…"

"Aw, c'mon!" interrupted Martin. "This is absurd, even for you Guy. Open your eyes and freaking look around you!" Martin waved around at their little band of would be warriors and lab nerds. "What, we're taking on Iraklis' army of former British Special Forces and mercenaries, are we? Us? I mean look at us. What with two rifles and a canteen? Have you lost your bloody mind?"

"That's enough, Doctor Li!" ordered Guy.

"No, listen to me!" pleaded Martin. "Look, no disrespect, but why are we always taking on ludicrous missions where it's us against the world?" Janice set her jaw and nodded. "I know that we thought we were acting nobly for the greater good when we took that misguided decision to assassinate Connors, but why must we always be going uphill? I mean, does anyone else think that this 'plan' is freaking nuts? If we're putting our lives out there, again, then the plan should be fair. Let's make this fair. We'll have a show of hands and take a vote."

Before he was finished his tirade, Mike Hall interrupted him and pushed down Martin's raised arm. "No! No! Absolutely not! This is not a democracy!"

"Well it's not a-"

"The General is in charge! General Kasady is in charge! No ifs, ands, or buts. He says we go, we go! There are no questions!"

"We've already lost two men on this expedition, Cap! How many more are we going to lose?" Martin hollered.

Mike Hall and Martin kept staring at each other for a few long moments. "You need to sit down, and shut up right now," Hall growled.

"You can't tell me to shut up. I'm just as much part of Oscorp's administration as Guy or Toby."

Hall started pushing Martin backwards, "You need to sit down and shut up, right now," he said, as he pushed him down onto a log. He stood there with his arms crossed and sighed. "Your briefing, General."

"Thank you, Captain. Graph Four. We will approach the enemy position from the northwest using natural ground cover to mask our approach." Guy picked up a stick and pointed at his crude model on the ground. "Our objective is to clear the 'command and control' console. That should leave us clear to take the Chopper without fear of a rear attack as we're taking off. Once we reach this position," he said, pointing at the entrance to the helipad. "Janice, you're going to flank out to the left and make a feint on their position, hopefully drawing their fire long enough for me and Toomes to flank out to the right and get a shot at the console to clear it of bogies. Captain Hall, you and Doctor Li will stay at position one, and provide covering fire for both flanking manoeuvres. Okay, let's saddle up!" Guy pushed a pistol into Martin's trembling hands. "It's time to neutralize some bogies!"

Guy picked up one of the two assault rifles that they possessed and they moved through the jungle to launch their attack. Guy was almost feeling giddy that his escape plan was in motion.

When they arrived in sight of the road that led to the helipad, Guy and Mike Hall took a quick sweep with the field glasses. "There's two," said Guy, mentally marking their position, "and there's the other two, right where they're supposed to be." He pocketed the binoculars and faced his frightened little band. "This is it. We're going in. Janice, follow the tree line to point Alpha," he pointed forward.

"Whoa, whoa, General. There's four sentinels at the entrance to the helipad," said Mike Hall, staring through his binoculars.

"What?" Guy grunted, pulling out his field glasses again.

Martin crouched low. "Something's wrong isn't it? Something's wrong with the plan."

"Quiet down. There's nothing wrong with the plan. There are just a couple of sentinels that we didn't account for. That means eight here and another two guarding the Comanches." He turned to Martin. "Are you absolutely certain about the two guards at the choppers?"

Martin looked around defensively. "I know what I saw."

Mike Hall turned around from his binoculars. "Maybe there are only eight soldiers. They just changed their deployment. That would mean that they brought the two that were guarding the helipad itself down here. In that case, the choppers would be unprotected!"

Guy could sense his clean escape slipping away. "Gosh, Captain. If we had to circle around to sneak into the helipad from the other side, we'd have to double back like a click away."

"So what?" Hall's frustration came out. "The choppers' unprotected. We can slip away and regroup with Dr. Auchmann's main force. We don't have to take on the whole Oscorp army!"

A crashing boom shattered the quiet calm that they had enjoyed for the past hour. "What the hell was that?" cried Martin.

"Cannon shot from the north side of the island. It must have come from Iraklis mopping up after taking out the last of Doc Ock's forces. That means that Iraklis is in control of our surface to air missiles. We have to move now, take out the 'command and control' console so that we can make a clean break in the Comanche. When we're in the air we can always fire back some countermeasures and lay some blanket fire to cover our exit. But we gotta go, Cap! There's no time for discussion. Move out! It's game time! We'll take out these bastards before they kill anymore of us!" They picked up their guns and started moving through the jungle to launch their attack.

Janice sat with her back to a tree, starting to hyperventilate. She managed to push off the tree but she fell to her knees and stayed there, frozen.

"Dr. Lincoln! Janice! I said, move!" barked Guy.

"I can't!" Janice panted.

"What?" Guy snapped in disbelief. "That's an order!"

"She doesn't have to. We could just go take the chopper!" hissed Mike Hall through his teeth.

Guy focused on Janice. "Janice! You have to move! Janice you have to go! This is not a joke. Go! This is not a game, Janice. Go! Iraklis is prepping the SAM's right now, Janice. Any of our comrades who've survived are counting on us to get those birds in the air, Janice. Move!" All the while Janice closed her eyes and shook her head from side to side.

"Listen to me! We still have time to double back and steal away in the choppers right under their noses!" Hall's eyes were practically popping out of his head.

"Shuttup for a second!" snapped Guy. "Listen, Janice. Dr. Lincoln. You have your orders! I need you to go up there and create a distraction, now! Move!"

"There were only supposed to be two sentinels and now there are four," Adrienne whimpered. "How are we supposed to take out four sentinels?" Her shaking hands clutched her pistol.

"Ok screw the orders!" Guy continued to rail on Janice. "Our people are out there and we have to save them! They're dying! They'll die unless we can get to them and provide medical attention!"

Janice teeth were clenched. "Shaddup! I can't do it! I can't do it!"

"Move!"

"No!"

Guy pulled out his sidearm and pointed it at Janice's head. Martin called Mike Hall's attention. "Cap!" Mike whirled around.

"Whoa. Hey. Hey! Put it down!"

Guy's grimacing face glared over the pistol. "You're going out there, Janice. You're going out there or I'm going to blow you're brains out, right here." Janice started to sob. "Right now."

"Hey General, buddy. Take it easy. Put the gun down. Take it easy."

"I'm counting to three," said Guy, stone-faced.

"This is crazy!" said Adrienne. "This is freaking crazy." She hung her head.

"One!"

Mike Hall pulled out his pistol and pointed it at Guy. "Put it down! Right now! Listen to me! Drop your weapon!"

"Two!"

Janice turned her head away and Guy looked like he was going to cry. But then his face took on a firm, malicious aspect.

"Three!"

A pistol fired at close range, but it was Guy who lunged forward, his lifeless body crumpling against a tree.

The barrel of Martin's pistol continued to smoke as his eyebrows knitted into a scared look of surprise and shock. Guy's face was also etched with a look of shock and dismay; as his cheek pressed unnaturally against the tree trunk, and his dead eyes stared straight ahead.

Janice kept sobbing, and the rest just looked at each other in incredulity. A few tense moments passed and Mike Hall looked like he was about to say something, when bullets started peppering the ground and foliage around him. He ducked as Janice, Martin and Adrienne hit the ground.

"Fall back! Fall back!" shouted Mike, covering his face to protect it from bits of dirt and slivers that were flying through the air as the guards from the helipad, alerted to the enemy presence from Martin's gun going off, were laying blanket machine gun fire before advancing on their position. "Go! Go!"

Mike ripped off Guy's dog tags before running to take cover behind a big log with Janice and Adrienne, while Martin crawled up to Guy's mortal remains. He paused to look at him and ponder just what it was that he had done. But with bullets whizzing past, now was not the time for soul searching. He briskly grabbed Guy's assault rifle and went ducking for cover with the others.

Once he arrived, Captain Hall sent Janice and Adrienne running for their lives into the jungle, while he took the rear to try and slow down their pursuers and Martin ran just ahead of him. One of Iraklis' soldiers lined up his mark along a clearing and got a lucky shot where he hit Adrienne in the leg. She went down and fortunately was sheltered by a fallen tree. She called for help and Janice went back for her. Grabbing her arm, the two of them kept moving, albeit at a slower pace. The two of them huddled for cover behind a large tree, about three meters in diameter. Hall and Martin came from behind, both firing their assault rifles back but not being able to get a clear shot.

A bullet winged Mike Hall in the shoulder and he went crashing to the ground and his rifle went flying a couple of meters ahead of him. Martin dove for cover behind the same big tree as Janice and Adrienne, while he tried to keep firing from around the tree. Bullets peppered the ground around where Mike was lying as he curled up behind a short ridge of dirt. There was a log that protected him for the moment but he was unable to reach forward to get his rifle.

As he shielded his head with both arms and was shrouded in dirt and smoke, Martin screamed, "Cap! Cap!"

"Just stay there! Stay there! That's an order!" he yelled back. Taking a breath and scrunching his face, he pulled out his sidearm and leaped out from his shelter for one last stand. Screaming his battle cry, he unloaded his pistol at the attacking soldiers.

From before his eyes, two of the men exploded and were vaporized into a bloody mist, while the third and fourth were rattled with bullets. In a daze, Captain Mike Hall momentarily looked at his pistol in disbelief, and then whirled around to see what was behind him.

He turned around to see Lieutenant James Sanders and Petty Officer Elaine Colls in a Humvee, brandishing their Mk9 grenade launcher and M2 heavy machine gun. Sanders saluted and Colls called out, "You're welcome."

All four of them breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and Janice gripped Martin's hand as they wept pent-up emotion and adrenaline. Captain Hall looked at his surviving little troop with proud jubilation.

Back at the Admin building where they were receiving medical attention, Captain Hall handed Guy's dog tags to Commander Castle, who had come to check on the status of the injured and assess the extent of the sustained losses. Castle accepted the tags respectfully, then said, "That's a hell of a butcher's bill, Cap." He started to walk away when he paused and asked, "Doc Ock will want to know how Dr. Kasady died. How did it happen?"

Castle was looking at Hall but Martin answered, "Leading the charge. He gave his life in the finest tradition of the service."

Janice and Martin looked at Mike Hall, who seemed lost in his thoughts. Doubt was written on Martin's face whether Mike would deny his story, but then Mike looked up at him and said, "Yeah." He smiled. "He was a hero. Right to the end."

Castle gripped the tags. "Okay."

Lieutenant Adriana Soria walked around the animal paddock and came across where Peter and Tom were hunkered down. "Lieutenant!" said Peter. "How goes the battle?"

"Dr. Wirtham told me I could you find you here. You two are needed to serve as medics in the infirmary. Report to C building immediately."

Peter looked to Tom. "We might as well. We haven't had much luck with our wolf trap."

"He may be spooked because of all the fighting."

"Well let's get to work on these wounded and dying and hopefully in the meantime we can come up with a better idea on how to lure our prey."

"Are you sure they want _me_ working in the infirmary?" asked Tom, "I understand that your skills as a Medical Doctor would be invaluable. But me? I don't have any clinical training."

"I know that from what I've already seen of your skills that you'd make an invaluable medical corpsman for a combat zone. Let's get to work and try to save some lives for a change."

Peter was sent to work helping in the OR, while Tom was indeed sent out as a corpsman, collecting the wounded where they had fallen, and providing first aid or helping as an acting Paramedic. He learned quickly how to prep the wounded and get them moved to the OR where they could receive treatment.

Tom got to work loading the soldiers into cots, applying bandages and pressure to amputated appendages, supplying morphine and hooking up field IV medicine bags. As Tom was working, he saw Kanaka, Lily Hollister's henchman, dragging a cot with a big Russian soldier strapped to it, his head flopping around unnaturally. "Something about that doesn't seem Kosher," thought Tom. While it looked like Kanaka had tended to a wound that was bleeding from his midsection, the all around lack of concern displayed by not immobilizing the head and neck for probable spinal injuries was a terrible disregard for basic first aid principles.

When Tom entered into the makeshift military hospital, everything was a buzz of chaotic activity as the medics, doctors and surgeons attempted to provide treatment to the many injured. Elias was busy in the OR, and as soon as he finished stitching up one patient, he rushed to the next, and he continued at this hurried pace for many hours. Tom could readily observe Elias' considerable skill as a surgeon, as well as someone who could perform under stress.

Tom assisted where he could, at first as a runner, but then, out of necessity, he began assisting as a nurse for surgery. While he was no replacement for an actual nurse, they took advantage of his basic knowledge of medical practice and his eagerness to help.

After all the patients had been tended to, finally Tom and Elias were able to sit for a few moments. Elias handed Tom his flask, and after the stress of the past twenty-four hours, Tom was grateful for the liquid distraction. As he handed the flask back to Elias, Tom asked, "What did Dr. Hollister want with you earlier?"

Elias shook his head. "She has been working on something really big for a while now. Something that she thinks will define her legacy, but she also has her own personal reasons why she's pursuing it now with such reckless abandon. I told her that we are still a ways off from having the expertise, but she feels that she has to attempt it now, that she can't wait any longer. I told her that I didn't want any part of it."

"How did that go over?"

"She flew into one of her typical tantrums. Not something that I haven't already grown accustomed to. But now she really seems like she's completely unhinged. But then, thankfully, I was ordered to report to the OR."

Tom looked suddenly lost in thought. "You know, you've never asked me what my reasons are for joining this ill-fated expedition." He looked around at the body bags.

"I figured you would tell me when we had firmly established a rapport."

"I also have my personal reasons for wanting to be able to use animal hybrid medical treatments, and I had been promised by the Oscorp executives that once this issue of the island was settled, then my project would receive the official green light."

"And how do you think that's gone for you?"

"I think, that Oscorp is going to want to cover this up as much as possible. They're not going to openly promote this technology, lest they allow investigations into how it was developed from any of the authorities or the media. And it doesn't help that Hollister's mind is a bag of cats. She can't be any sort of ambassador for this technology, and while it impresses me that she doesn't seem to be afraid of anybody, I think it's a given that no one is going to let her leave this place."

Elias just looked serious and nodded, thinking of the implications for himself. "I originally signed on with Oscorp after an… incident, that involved me being caught drinking before surgery. I was suffering from depression at the time." He looked at Tom, who nodded understandingly. "Anyways, the end result was me being put on probation for five years, so I couldn't practice surgery. I needed a job, and when I heard about Dr. Hollister and Oscorp, I jumped at the opportunity to work without being judged. Now that I've signed all the contracts and paperwork required to work on classified government research, it would appear a little complex to be able to go back to the US, and start a life again."

"Well you're right," Tom continued," we have developed a rapport, and I think we should try and help each other out."

"What do you propose?"

"We'll bide our time for now, but at the first opportunity, let's try and get the hell out of Dodge. You won't be safe if you wait here, but I promise you, that I'll do whatever I can to get you back stateside."

"I guess I'll drink to that."

Tom went to check on Peter, who was busy setting up his wolf trap. He had some snares set out, and then Tom helped him to make a buried bait set. They dug a small hole and proceeded to fill it with bones that they got from the kitchen. Somehow, one of the assistants had managed to shoot a stink badger, so Peter threw the carcass into the hole as well to cover up his own smell. Then they waited.

During the night, a shadowy figure approached one of the sentries who was guarding the south entrance of the compound. He climbed along the wall and then, dropping silently to the ground behind the unsuspecting guard, he swiftly came up behind him and put him in spine crushing hold. Scaling the wall and entering past security, he moved with superhuman speed to the animal holding area. Opening the cage that belonged to Penny, a female chimp, he quietly concealed himself under the straw that she had for padding in her pen, waiting for the morn.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Early the next morning, Iraklis' troops were preparing to launch another invasion of the island, this time in a two-pronged coordinated effort that would commit only a limited number of squadrons to the south, but was designed to lure out the bulk of Toby's forces to a full-scale battle on the north side.

Toby and Frank Castle readied their defences, which were tested, true and reliable. They were prepared to hold off against the enemy for as long as it was necessary. Although perhaps Toby was not prepared for the next headache that he would have to face: Fred Foswell.

Fred Foswell was one of the original Liberators and was always seeking the spotlight for his presence or his opinion. The fact that he had not been consulted on the best way to defend the island (not that he knew anything about defending military position but obviously it was the principle of the thing) had never sat well with him. And now that Toby had lost his partner and cohort, Guy Kasady, Fred Foswell felt that now was his time to move on up in the world in influence and prestige.

Foswell began the dialogue with Toby Auchmann, "You're up crap creek, Ock."

"It seems to me that you're right there with me in the same canoe."

"All the more reason that you need to seek my counsel, Dr. Auchmann. It befuddles me that you haven't been asking for my advice earlier. Otherwise, we could have put an end to these hostilities."

"Yes I am sure that we are at a loss without your great wisdom, Fred."

"Yes, I'm convinced of that as well," said Fred, not picking up on the sarcastic tone of Toby's voice. "But now we can make up for these failings in foresight. Let's go over how we plan on attacking those godless bastards tomorrow."

"We don't plan on attacking them at all! We have the advantage of our defensive position. As long as we can hold out, we can wear them down. Attacking them outright would be the height of foolhardy bravado."

"With all due respect, Ock, you would be a pretty good boy if you weren't so goddamn chicken. We had Osborne in the palms of our sweaty little hands. And what happened? Your men screwed the pooch, that's what! They let him get away, and now we're running to play catch-up, again. Well not under my watch, we're not."

"The men did not screw up, Dr. Foswell," said Toby, trying not to lose his patience but wondering why he should bother. "They fought extraordinarily bravely and won a significant victory against the forces of Osborne. The fact that they failed to catch him was just bad luck."

" _Catch_ him? They should have freakin' killed him, for crying out loud. And as a scientist, I don't believe in luck."

"Of course you wouldn't, you…" Toby coolly didn't finish his sentence, but Foswell was too caught up in hearing his own pontificating to notice.

"Sure, as great men who have the very future of the human race in our vision, we have many facets to consider, and we may be certain that the Devil himself will at times inhabit aspects of our creations. But ultimately, and I say ultimately," said Foswell, relishing the sound of his own voice, "if we are to be champions of humanity; real doggone heroes, we need to be men who would argue with the gods themselves. And in doing this, we will inevitably awaken many devils to contest our brilliant vision. And we can expect this even more the more we achieve. But will we let that stop us?" Foswell asked his imaginary audience. "Hell no!"

"Thank you, Dr. Foswell." Toby cleared his throat. "We will certainly take your advice under consideration," he said facetiously, while planning on doing exactly the opposite.

Once Harry Osborne managed to extricate himself from the swamp, he tried to put a strategic spin on his tactical debacle of the previous day, shifting the focus onto his state-of-the-art body armour and how it had salvaged the day from being a compete disaster. Still, he was humiliated enough that he yielded to Iraklis complete control in commanding the attack, so Iraklis' forces would take the north side, and Vitaly would lead the invasion to the south. The invaders had lost a gunship and thus were working on borrowed time, since they were limited in their ability to resupply.

During the night, Vitaly was able to establish a staging area for his men close to where Guy had had his bunker, and camouflaged by the marsh, they were able to dig in to prepare to attack a position that was less defended, while the majority of Toby's forces would be preoccupied by the main force of Iraklis to the north.

Just as the sun was starting to push its way up past the horizon, Toby took his station next to Frank Castle, as they prepared themselves to direct the battle and fight another day.

"I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank you for your exemplary service," Toby suddenly said to Castle, somewhat awkwardly. "You honour our company and it has been a privilege serving with you."

Frank Castle seemed a little taken aback at these accolades, but he soon recovered himself. "General, you also have conducted yourself honourably and I consider you a true, honest-to-God patriot. Despite what every maniac, nut job and deranged savage in the world would convince himself, we are still the superpower that is in charge, and I consider it my duty to America to take on these kinds of assignments."

"I've never asked you, Commander. Do you have a family somewhere that depends on you? That waits at the door to see if you're coming home?"

"I don't talk about it because dwelling on personal attachments will get you killed," Castle said sharply. "But if you want to know a little about me, I was a Delta Force operator. I was trained for war. I was made for it. In my opinion my country is at war and it needs me. End of story."

"Is that why you keep working?"

"If you want God's truth, when I'm not out here in the field, I miss it. I miss the excitement and the thrill. Basically I love killing bad guys."

"I know the men feel like this war is more than that what they bargained for, so I agreed to pay them another $500 a day."

"That might appease some of them, but most of the old-timers just want to finish up here so that they can move on to the next job. From their point of view, a quick conclusion to this conflict would be more profitable," observed Castle.

"Maybe so," said Toby, "but I will try to hold out as long as possible to wear down the enemy, and our defences should be able to hold for quite some time."

"I expect to see a lot of fireworks here on the main front, but let's not forget our flank. We need to commit some fortifications to protect the south side."

"We will. And we'll rely on air support to protect our flank and yet avoid an open engagement."

"I'll give the Comanches the go ahead," said Castle, referring to their helicopters.

The next morning was virtually a stalemate, as both armies stared each other up and down like two boxers circling, waiting for an opening, parrying, testing for weaknesses. Iraklis' helicopters and a gunship fired down on Toby's batteries, while trying to stay out of range of their cannons and mortars. Iraklis wanted to wait until they had eliminated at least some of the forward batteries before attempting another landing on the beach. And Toby wanted his men to hunker down in their tunnels until Iraklis had committed himself.

Finally Iraklis decided to make a more decisive move to try to gain the momentum. Using small helicopters armed with howitzers and machine guns, he created a small defensive perimeter to land a small amount of troops on the beach. The men were packed tight trying to hold on to their tiny bit of ground, but were having a tough time of it making any advancement up the hill.

Meanwhile, while the humans were preoccupied with the ensuing battle, Caesar came out of his hiding place and opened the door that he had left open the previous night when he had entered the female chimp's cage. All the animals were silent as they looked upon him, free; and wondering what he would do next.

He looked back at them, and raised his head up high, signalling to all the beasts and partial humans that their time had finally come. He then proceeded to release all of them from their captivity and set them upon the world, communicating to them that they should flee.

But many lingered. A fire burned in common amongst many of the hybrids that had been used for testing. They were more intelligent than the average beast, and with that came a recognition of their tormentors and a human desire for revenge.

Tom and Elias were busy with the injured, not only battling the enemy but also against the challenges of limited equipment and shortage of medical supplies. Elias yelled at Tom, who was doing his best to assist, "C'mon! I need you to keep pressure on the wound! Press harder, dammit!"

Tom was pressing with all his might but to no avail, as the wounded soldier screamed in pain.

"Ok, I almost got the femoral artery. When I extend it out of the wound. Hold that wound open! Okay, good. When I extend it, you need to clamp it! Alright, here, I got it. Can you see it?"

At this moment, Kanaka approached. "Dr. Wirtham!"

"Kind a busy here!" shouted Elias.

"Ok I got it!" yelled Tom jubilantly.

"Clamp it! Clamp it!"

"Dr. Wirtham, you must come with me! Now!"

Elias ignored Kanaka. "What's happening? Have you got it?" The soldier cried out in terror.

"Crap! It's tearing! It's slipping! I got it, but…" The artery snapped back into the man's leg, along with his last chance for survival.

"Dammit!" swore Elias. "This man needed a Medevac. Why couldn't we get him one?"

"Forget him," Kanaka said coldly. "Shastra requires your assistance on something of prime importance. It is not a request. It is an order."

"She can demand all she wants," said Elias. "I'm not going anywhere. And what's her bloody hurry, anyway? Unless she's trying to…" Elias stopped mid sentence, as realization came over him. "She's not going to attempt the HEAVEN surgery now, is she?"

Tom looked up at Elias, then at Kanaka and back again. "Heaven surgery? What's that?"

"Enough talk!" Kanaka roared.

"HEAVEN surgery, is the vainglorious term for the theoretical process of transplanting a human's head onto another body."

"Head transplant? Why is she attempting such a complicated and experimental operation now, in the middle of a war?" asked Tom.

"I think you've answered your own question, Mr. Jones," replied Elias, staring down Kanaka. "She must be thinking this is her last chance to perform the surgery, and she wants to try and get it done before everything really hits the fan. You see, before all of this," Elias waved his hand around. "Dr. Lily Hollister was an exceptionally gifted, world renowned and respected biological scientist. A shining star in her field. She had it all. A brilliant career, the esteem of her colleagues, plenty of recognition and funding for her research, even a loving and devoted husband."

"What happened?" asked Tom, captivated.

"Tragically her husband developed cancer and died after only being married for six years. After being devastating by the diagnosis, Lily gave up everything in pursuit of a cure for cancer, but couldn't save him in time. After his death, she started pursuing something even more ground-breaking; transplanting a person's head onto a healthy body. Only a handful of individuals are aware that she cryogenically froze her husband's head while she developed her research. We were so close in our development to being operational, when she lost her most valued ally in Julian Connors. Now, she must be accelerating her schedule in a last ditch effort to resurrect the love of her life."

"Enough! Come with me, now!"

"I said that I won't, and I mean it," said Elias stubbornly. "Look around you. We can't successfully operate on someone like that in these conditions. And we haven't even completed all of the testing yet. Take my advice, Kanaka, and run while you still can."

Kanaka was through with arguing and asking politely. He rushed upon Elias and attempted to grab him to force him to come with him. Tom stepped between them. Kanaka thought that he could simply swat Tom away like a fly, but discovered that there was more to Tom than met the eye. As Tom held his ground and body checked Kanaka across the room, the big Polynesian dug his feet into the ground and cracked his neck.

"I knew there was something about you," he growled. "You're a mutant like me."

"Let's not get nasty."

"I know you are. I can tell. I can smell it on you. You're some sort of _pūngāwerewere_ , like me. I'm a tarantula. And you are my prey."

While Kanaka was still threatening, Tom was slowly picking up a rock from behind him. He yelled, "Run!" and threw his projectile with all his might. Kanaka was able to just barely dodge it, and the rock embedded into the wall behind him. As Elias ran for his life, Kanaka paused to examine the results of Tom's murderous throw, thinking that while the rock was lodged in the wall it could very well of been inside his brain. "You are going to regret crossing me," he promised.

Tom gulped. He just had to fend off Kanaka long enough so that Elias could hide and then they could escape. Kanaka came at him and Tom in return threw a few punches. While for a normal human they would be crushing blows, to Kanaka they seemed to barely bother him.

Kanaka lunged at Tom, but he just barely managed to evade his swing. Tom punched him a few more times, and tried kicking him in the face. This seemed to cause him to stagger, so Tom moved in closer. But this was a grave error; Kanaka grabbed Tom's arm and then put him in a bone crushing hold. Not only could Tom not move, he could hear his ribs starting to crack and he couldn't inhale. With the life being squeezed out of him, he knew he had to think of something and quickly. He started wriggling as much as he could and gave himself enough freedom to move pull a knife out of his belt. Slashing Kanaka across the leg, Kanaka released him so that he was able to get out of the hold and he tried stabbing him with the knife. Kanaka blocked his right hand so Tom came across with a left hook and then plunged the knife into Kanaka's leg. As he dropped to his knees in pain, Tom fled, seeking to catch up with Elias.

Dr. Lily Hollister was starting to feel panicky. She had started the operation of a head transplant and there was no going back now. The problem was that she needed the surgical skills of Dr. Elias Wirtham, especially for the most complicated phase of attaching the head to the body. She looked down at the still breathing Russian soldier, Ivan Kutuzov. She gave him a strong sedative, but trusted that he had suffered brain damage anyway. She was not killing him, she was releasing him from what could only be an accursed life.

"Where is Kanaka?" she yelled, startling her assistant. "I cannot wait any longer. Leila, you're going to have to assist me with removal. As soon as I cut through the jugular, I need you to cauterize it completely, understand? That's the most important, but be careful to cauterize all the arteries and veins, to prevent hypovelemia."

Leila Davis, the terrified looking assistant, nodded. Dr. Hollister picked up her scalpel and started cutting. Sweat poured down her face as her attention centred with obsessive focus on her task, and her hands moved in tandem like two instruments possessed. 'This was it.' she told herself. 'It's all come down to this. It's now or never. There's no going back now.'

She removed the head triumphantly and picked it up with both hands. She was in the process of passing it to Leila, when at that very moment, with what could not have been worse timing, Dr. Janice Lincoln walked into the operating room, looking for IV solution bags.

Janice walked in rapidly, like someone on a mission, when she was stopped dead in her tracks by the sight of Leila holding Kutuzov's head. Leila and Dr. Hollister stared silently back at Janice and you could have heard a pin drop, when the silence was broken as Leila unceremoniously dropped the head into a steel pan, where it made a dull thump as it landed.

All of this passed in a few seconds, and as Janice was coming out of her shock at the gruesome sight, she opened her mouth in confusion, when Hollister pulled out her revolver and fired two shots into Janice without saying a word.

Leila screamed, knocking over the IV stand when she stepped back in panic. As Janice fell back against the door, and staggered back into the hallway, Lily Hollister waved the gun towards Leila. "Shut up. Shut up. Calm down. It had to be done. Davis. Davis! Look at me. She wasn't one of us. She would have tried to stop us. Now focus. Focus, dammit! Where are we with the surgery? Okay. I need bandages here. Now get me set up for reattachment. I need sutures. Bring over the blood vessel sewing machine. Okay. Where are the fusogens? Alright good. Hook it up to the IV."

Leila complied with all these directions, while whimpering softly to herself and blinking away the tears.

"Where are the immunosuppressants? What is that spilled all over the floor?" demanded Hollister.

"Here, Doctor. Here's another bag."

"It's not enough! We needed that bag you spilled. If we don't give him enough glucocorticoide the body will reject the cephalic transplantation. Go get more. There's more in the infirmary. Go! Hurry!" Hollister said, as Leila ran out of the room.

Hollister worked and fretted, prepping everything as best she could as she waited for Leila to come back. She tenderly took the cryogenically frozen head in her hands and looked at him lovingly. "Richard," she whispered. "You're almost ready. This is it. Just a few moments longer, and we can be together again. I love you."

She grew agitated and looked at her watch. "What is taking that girl so long? I swear if she took off, she will regret it!" Hollister put down her husband into the cooling blanket, and stormed off to the infirmary.

She entered the infirmary and opened the medication refrigerator. "I knew it! The glucocorticoides are right here!" She grabbed the meds and as she slammed the fridge door, she saw something out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see Leila's unconscious body lying behind a desk. Hollister whirled around to face the malevolent presence in the room: Koba.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Koba stared at Lily Hollister, with a look of grim satisfaction smeared across his scarred and ugly Bonobo face. A hint of a rumble came from his chest, but he didn't move.

Hollister immediately realized the peril of her situation. She looked into the murderous redness of Koba's functioning eye and tried to reason with his humanity. "Look, Koba. I know you're mad. But you have to understand, it was never personal, we were saving lives. And, speaking of which, I have a patient on the table that I desperately need to get back to right now, or we're going to lose him."

Koba moved his head and made soft hooting sounds, pondering what was his next move. If Hollister didn't know better, she'd have thought he was relishing the moment of his victory over the chief of his tormenters.

The seconds ticked by, and Hollister started to panic, even to cry a little bit. "Koba! You have to let me go. Please! I need to get back. I need to-"

Lily Hollister made a move towards the door and Koba cut her off with a blood-curdling roar. He grabbed Dr. Hollister and threw her against the floor like a rag doll, and, despite his rage, the cracking noise of her spine on impact was not lost on him. Even so, he continued to pound with his arms; his enhanced comprehension that he was exacting vengeance was just yet another product of the human brain capacity that had been bestowed upon him.

Fred Foswell sat in the command centre to the south of the island, feeling nervous. He did not get along well with these military types, and he tried to compensate for his feelings of intimidation by ordering them around more than was necessary. He requested constant check-ins over the radio from the men that were stationed in his quadrant.

When one of his sentries failed to respond to his check, he began to feel very nervous. "Come on S-2, talk to me. Come in," he called over the radio, to no response. "Anyone got a visual on S-2?" he asked. "Ranger 3, can you tell me what's going on in S-2's corner?" he called to one of the helicopters.

"Negative, base," the pilot came in. Then he said, "Wait, I'm detecting some movement, near the rear entrance."

"Go in for a closer look, Ranger 3. Maybe some of their soldiers snuck past our sentries. They've done it before."

"Roger." When the Comanche helicopter moved in to investigate, they passed by a squad of Vitaly's men who were concealed behind some brush. The soldiers in green opened fire, and managed to launch an RPG into the tail of the chopper. "I'm hit!" the pilot reported, as black smoke poured out of the tail section.

"You look pretty bad," observed Foswell, staring at his monitor. "Can you still fly?"

"We can fly, but who knows for how long. I'm going to put her down near the base and try to repair it."

"Do it quickly," Foswell commanded.

As the helicopter started to descend, the pilot and gunners saw something moving in the trees and on the top of the building. "There's something there," said the pilot. "Wait, what the-?" as suddenly a troop of apes came swinging out of the trees and onto the helicopter. "We're being attacked!" he yelled. "By apes!"

"Did he say…apes?" Foswell thought out loud.

A big chimp grabbed one of the gunners and tossed him out of the chopper, while another ape leaped inside and started beating the pilot. The chopper started spinning and lost control, hitting the ground and rolling in a destructive mess.

Foswell gaped, "We have a Comanche down. Repeat, a chopper just went down."

Vitaly's men made no mistake in capitalizing on this hole that was created in the enemy's defences. They swarmed out of the marsh, shooting and providing covering fire as soldiers advanced and smashed their way into the rear building.

The battle was proceeding laboriously from Toby's vantage point. Iraklis had a small force dug in on the beach, but Castle's forces and their cannons kept them pinned down. Then he heard Foswell report over the radio that they had lost a Comanche and that the enemy was advancing from the south. "Report. What's going on back there?"

"We're getting torn to shreds! That's what's going on!" yelled Foswell.

"We've just lost the initiative in this battle. Basically we got two options, sir," informed Commander Castle. "We can try and sit tight here, attempting to retain our defensive position on the beach while stretching our defences to also cover the south. Or, instead of risking of being outflanked, which is what will eventually happen, we could launch an advance on the beach, cut them off there and then we can turn back and mop up the south. I think you know sir, where my suggestion rests."

"I do, Commander, thank you." Toby thought hard about what to do, but really he relied on Castle's military advice. "I'm out of my depth here, Commander. I seem to carry on war like General McClellan at Antietam, not so much commanding as being commanded. Alright Castle, we'll do it your way. Start the attack."

"Yes, sir!"

Castle sent out his attack in lightly armoured vehicles that launched RPG's, fired cannons and provided heavy machine gun fire. By doing so, it provoked Iraklis' men to launch a counterattack, and soon, both armies were locked in an intense firefight at close quarters.

Tom was running around looking for Elias while trying not to get shot. He ran through the corridors of the military hospital, as doctors, nurses and wounded were rushing around as well. Finally he tracked down where Dr. Hollister had been hiding, learning that she kept her own personal operating theatre that only she was allowed to use. As he rushed down the hallway, he found Janice lying in a pool of blood, struggling to breathe.

"Dr. Lincoln! Here, sit up, lean forward a little bit. You're going to be okay. Here, look at me." Tom used his flashlight to shine in her eyes and swore under his breath as he saw blood in the anterior chamber. She was haemorrhaging badly. "It's okay. You'll be okay, Janice."

"Tom?" she croaked weakly, and grabbed his hand. "Please. Uh-huh." She choked a little. "Please, tell my father, I love him still." Her voice was thick.

"Don't worry about it. This just looks bad, but we'll get you fixed up." He started pressing his shirt onto her abdomen to try and protect the organs. "I just need to moisten this, to clean up the wound."

"Tell him for me, to forget the railroad and all those bills. Tell him."

"It's okay, Janice, don't worry about that, whatever it is. You can tell him yourself."

Her hand went limp and she died, just like that. Tom stared down at her crumpled body and his futile efforts to tend to her injuries. As he looked around in a daze, he was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. The deafening sounds of the battle faded into the background of his consciousness as he hung his head and wept. He hadn't been close to Janice by any means, but she was a human life, and the stress and remorse he felt about his mission finally caught up with him; breaking through in waves of feeling and sobs that erupted up from the depths of his very being. His head continued to hang down as the tears dripped onto Janice and splashed in the bloody pools on the ground, but she just stared forward. Her war of protest and her concerns about the world were over.

When Tom managed to pull himself together, he heard screams and gunshots coming from the hospital area. He ran to see what was happening, and as he peaked around the corner, he saw chimpanzees and other animals attacking everyone. The battle was unravelling, and Tom was struck by the grim realization that he needed to get out of there.

As reports of the apes rampaging through their compound reached Toby and Castle, it was bad news that was piled onto the disaster that lay before them. When Iraklis' forces pushed back hard, Toby's forces were forced to fall back.

"The situation is dire, Commander. We must retreat, but we are losing control of the compound here," sighed Toby.

"I hate to say it, sir, but the only option left to us is surrender and retreat."

"Yes, Commander. You must retreat. There is no dishonour in helping what good men you have left to escape. You must signal your men to retreat and escape in the choppers back to the mainland. I will stay and cover your retreat."

"How?"

"I had prepared the contingency for this possible eventuality. I am going to fall back and direct the retreat from the control room in the mountain bunker on Pago Pago. I can buy you some time. But you must obey this final order Commander Castle." Toby slowly saluted. "It's been a pleasure, sir. Now, go! Quickly now!"

Frank Castle started making his way through the mayhem that was inside the compound to try and gather his men and escape in the helicopters. A huge ape loomed up before him and Castle shot him when another came out of nowhere, pinning down his arm so he was unable to fire.

The ape looked like he would rip him apart, limb from limb, when the ape was pulled off and beaten by someone with remarkable strength. Tom was also trying to fight his way through the compound, and he managed to kick Castle's opponent into submission. He nodded to Castle. "Time to get out of here?"

"Damn right! Get your people together and we'll convene at the southeast corner of the island. You got ten minutes."

"Right next to there is the docks. Look for Dr. Wirtham. He's got a homicidal mutant up his ass and he probably needs your help."

"We can't wait! Ten minutes!" called Castle after Tom as he ran away.

Peter Morgan continued to try and focus on his wolf trap, unaware that the battle had released all the hybrids onto the island. He suddenly heard one of his snares go off. He pulled out his revolver and went to investigate. Instead of Guthrie, the man-wolf, the snare had knocked a small chimp unconscious.

Peter was about to put his gun back in his holster, when he saw Guthrie. As soon as he made eye contact, Guthrie ran towards him snarling and growling ferociously. Peter held out the revolver in his two shaking hands and unloaded the gun's magazine into his attacker. Guthrie's momentum was so great that he kept running right into Peter and collapsed on top of him, dead. Peter, going hysterical, manically extricated himself from under Guthrie's bulk.

As he did so, he found himself staring at man-wolf's dead face. He truly was a remarkable specimen, Peter thought, but now he was destroyed. And why shouldn't he have destroyed him? He was a monster! An abomination of all that was good and natural in the world that Peter so loved. And he had killed him.

The more Peter looked over Guthrie, the more feelings of pity and remorse surged through him. "Why did they do this you, huh?" As he looked at him, the monstrosity of creating such a poor creature to suffer and live such a repellent life redirected Peter's rage.

"Why do we do this? Why do we create such biological monstrosities only to torture and loathe them?"

At this moment, Tom ran up, not even noticing Guthrie's carcass. "Peter, buddy. We need to get out of here, right now!"

Peter didn't hear or acknowledge Tom's presence. "This is what the human custodianship of this planet has resulted in? A curse on all humanity! We are a blight in this great universe. A curse on mankind! A curse!"

"Look, I can see you're upset, but Peter, we need to get out of here, now."

Finally Peter looked at Tom. "Look," he said pathetically. "Look at what we've done."

"Yes, we can deal with this crisis you're suffering later. But I gotta find Elias. We only got five minutes to get to the choppers," he said, taking his leave.

"A blight, I tell you!" Peter called after Tom as he ran away. "A pox on both your factions!"

Tom ran towards the docks, where he finally caught sight of Elias. He waved to him and smiled, but that smile quickly faded as he saw Kanaka come out of the trees behind him. Yelling out a warning, Tom sprinted at top speed to tackle Kanaka to the ground. While Tom was able to use his superior speed to get the drop on Kanaka, their weight disparity immediately highlighted to Tom the disadvantage that he found himself in, in a face-to-face fight. The big tarantula man soon had Tom in a bone crushing hold, taking away his mobility. Wriggling with all of his might, Tom managed to loosen his arm and dig his fingers into the wound on Kanaka's leg. At this point, Elias came running forward, with his gun raised and looking for a clear shot.

"Get moving, Tom! I got this!" he yelled.

The words were barely out of his mouth as Kanaka, with one smooth motion kicked Tom in the ribs with his good leg and managed to swing out his long arm, backhanding the gun out of Elias' hand. Tom tried to jump around Kanaka's neck, but he reached back and threw Tom about ten feet away into the water. As Kanaka reared up over Elias, his eyes betrayed his murderous intent; in that he recognized it was probably too late to deliver him to Dr. Hollister and now revenge was his only recourse. Tom, realizing that Elias was about to face death in about two seconds, desperately splashed around in the shallow waters for something he could throw. As luck would have it, his fingers managed to find an old whaling harpoon in the sand that had been uncovered by the tide. Before his brain even had the opportunity to acknowledge what exactly he had found, he lanced the harpoon, which struck Kanaka between the shoulder blades, causing him to stagger forward. Looking down in dismay, he could see the point of the harpoon protruding from his chest.

"Come on, Doctor, we got to go!" Tom helped Elias run towards the waiting chopper.

They sprinted towards a Comanche where Adriana Soria was firing up the rotors, with Frank Castle at her side in the cockpit. Tom and Elias sprinted towards the chopper as Mike Hall did as well. They drew some attention from the pursuing soldiers in green, and as Mike Hall jumped into the helicopter a sniper bullet hit him in the back.

"Go! Go!" yelled Castle.

As the chopper lifted off, Mike Hall fell out the door, followed by Tom leaping out to catch him. Performing his usual acrobatics, he managed to grab the falling soldier's arm while hanging on to the door gun with his legs. As the chopper flew higher into the air in an effort to dodge further fire from the ground, Tom was able to pull him in, where he assisted Elias in the treatment of his wound.

They quickly located the bullet in his left buttock and bandaged him up and gave him a shot of morphine, telling him: he'll be okay, just to sit tight and enjoy the ride until they could get him to a proper hospital.

Tom looked up at Frank Castle, thanking him with a nod of his head. "No man left behind, right?" He shouted above the din of the helicopter.

"Something like that, yeah. That's right!"

Tom looked down to the chaos below, as a band of apes dragged what was left of Dr. Lily Hollister through the compound. "Thanks for the lift. So now are we finally off to Australia?"

"No such thing as a free ride, son. We need to work out your fare, if you want safe passage out of this hell-hole."

"Our fare?"

Castle pulled out a pistol. "Doc Ock asked me to do one thing for him on the way out. Destroy the signal jamming station. And you know where that is, don't you, friend."

Tom gulped. But he knew that he didn't have a choice.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Mark Iraklis led his squad as they took control of the compound and followed Toby as he retreated up the side of the volcano. Iraklis silently approached the mountain bunker from the flank, and signalled his men to circle around. He started approaching the door, when Dr. Toby Auchmann himself walked out, his hands in the air.

"It's over, Ock," called Iraklis, his rifle pointed at him. "Tell your men to stand down and relinquish control to us."

"It is over," said Toby glumly. But just one thing I wanted to ask you first." He stepped down from the entrance of the bunker and put his hands down.

"What is it?" called Iraklis, still keeping his distance until more of his men arrived.

"There it is!" pointed Tom. "It's on that boat down there. We just have to pick up the sailor who piloting the boat."

"No man left behind," agreed Castle. As soon as he had lifted Khai into the chopper, they dropped grenades into the boat, destroying the signal jamming equipment.

"What's your question, Ock? I'm waiting."

Toby looked at his phone. He had a signal. "You know how Julian always used to say that progress is inevitable?"

Iraklis shrugged. "Yeah, so? What of it?"

Toby quickly punched in a code.

"That's a myth," he said, as he proceeded to press SEND.

A great explosion ripped through the compound as Toby's self destruct incendiary bombs were activated. Most of the animal hybrids, all of the computers, a few random soldiers and then lastly the mountain bunker went up in smoke.

Iraklis watched as Toby was consumed in a blinding white flame as the force of the explosion sent him flying backwards into the air where he landed amongst the trees.

Peter kneeled next to Guthrie, still cursing all that this amoral quest for knowledge and power had wrought. He did not flinch as he was consumed in flame and torn apart by regret.

Tom looked back at Noble's Isle aflame, thinking about what lay ahead, and all that had passed on this misadventure. Castle had agreed to take him to Australia, and even help him and Elias procure fake passports to allow them to enter Mexico, where they would have to find some traffickers to help them enter the US.

In exchange for getting him back to the States, Tom wanted Elias to perform Mariah's heart surgery. At first, Elias wasn't thrilled with the idea. "I'm going back to the States to put all of this behind me!" he exclaimed. "I don't want to go back to working with this kind of shady medicine. And you don't want that either, Tom. Trust me, nothing good can come of it."

"There's nothing to it, Elias. I have to see this through. Someone is counting on me."

"Watch yourself, Tom. Watch yourself. That's all I have to say to you. What makes you any better or different than Julian Connors or Lily Hollister? You'll end up the same as them, and the people you're trying to save; they'll end up suffering as well."

The reality was that Elias was just vocalizing the doubts and anxieties that were currently plaguing Tom's thoughts. But he had come too far to give up now. He looked at his phone and opened a picture of Mariah. "I hear what you're saying, Doc, and I think that you just might be right. But I need to believe that some small glimmer of good can come from all of this. That's what you and I need more than anything, Elias. Getting back to the States is important. But if we are to live with ourselves from this day on, we need some redemption more than anything."

"I don't know if what you're asking qualifies as 'redemption.' Seems like we're just going down the same old path. You know what Einstein defined as insanity? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Seems like this can only end in one of two ways: death or insanity, and I don't particularly relish the idea of either of those two alternatives."

"Well, Doc, we had just damn well better think of some variables to add to that equation so that we can arrive at a better conclusion. Look, I get it. We're not better or smarter than Connors or Hollister. Didn't Einstein also say that 'our technology has exceeded our humanity'? There has got to be a way to save people, without completely mortgaging every ethical principle that we stand for. Let's see if we can't balance our humanity to at least match our technology."

Elias shook his head in submission. "Alright. Here we go again, I guess." He pulled out his flask, and unscrewed the cap. "Huh! But to use Einstein against me! Don't that beat all!" he grumbled, as he took a swig.

Harry Osborne stood in his cabin on the command ship, posing in front of the mirror with his pistol. A knock came on the door. "Yes. I'll be out in a moment," he said.

Osborne walked out, exuding that air of authority and hubristic triumph that he felt was the prize won by the victors. Had they not fought a war? Had they not wreaked terrible vengeance?

He met up with Markus Vitaly, who was still dirty and grimy from the battle. "We have secured what's left of the island, sir. But I am afraid that there is not much left."

"That's fine, Mischa. It's better that the world remain none the wiser as to what went on here. We wouldn't want the news media to associate Oscorp with that old Grendel and her mutant progeny."

"And an update on General Iraklis' condition, sir. He is conscious, and pretty banged up, but he'll make it."

"I couldn't be more pleased," grinned Osborne.

"But he did suffer at least one serious injury."

"Oh?" Osborne did his best to feign interest. "And what is that?"

"He's suffered some pretty bad burns to his face. He is blind, sir."

This news seemed to disturb Osborne somewhat. "I will go to him. I'll need to take on some of his duties."

Osborne landed on the beach and was soon at the rear of the compound where his men had their prisoners. One of them in particular caught Osborne's attention, and he could not resist reminding the unfortunate man of his current predicament.

"Ah, Dr. Foswell. I trust that you finally comprehend where your vaulting ambition and ruthless hostility have led you. A great man may lie in his grave, but he can rest somewhat more peacefully now that his death is being avenged, don't you think?"

"Well it's funny how things look differently depending on where you sit, eh? I picked up on what you're saying; that I'm some sort of base murderer. But that's not how history will remember me and my companions."

"I seriously doubt that history will remember _you_ , at all," said Osborne drily.

"Oh don't sell yourself short, Osborne. People are going to remember how you tried to flaunt the laws of biological decency and then you rained down brutality and wanton destruction on those brave few who dared stand up to you. Believe me, history will remember all of us, because people love to review and dissect the psychology of villainy."

"Hah! You yourself said it, you fiend! Your own words condemn you that you are indeed a villain! And the lot of you proclaimed your admirations for Dr. Connors' brilliance when you allowed yourselves to be consumed by that old green-eyed monster and thus determined that you must deprive Connors, and therefore the world, of his genius. That's what makes you such a joke, Foswell. You're a half-educated follower who conceitedly hurled yourself into this murderous enterprise because Toby convinced you that you'd be able to get away with it. Now that every trace of your dignity has been thoroughly ravaged, even you must dimly comprehend that you were duped. You're a patsy. You're the Othello to Toby's Iago. And in the end, your guilt is clearly evident. You will be remembered as a footnote, as one of the saps that supported Auchmann in murdering a great man."

Foswell took a few steps forward, as he was getting his Irish up. "You talk of things you couldn't hope to begin to understand, you intellectual midget! You speak of murdering a great man, but you are nowhere near comprehending what supposedly made him great. I know that you would vaguely reply 'science', because you think this to be the response _comme il faut._ But not only is that answer meaningless, you don't even believe it yourself."

"If you pretend to understand so much of my beliefs and motivations, Foswell, then pray enlighten me."

"You believe Connors to have been great because you forecasted great and wonderful profits from his research. You're not a scientist. You never were, not that that's a sin in itself."

"Well I thank you for allowing me that."

"But you, like all of your corporate types, get so enamoured with the thought of making a dollar that you are willing to dismiss all other consequences. You are the quintessential Milo Minderbinder. You are always first and foremost a company man, a lackey to the filthy lucre, a capitalistic profiteer who is completely indifferent to the suffering and destruction your corporate agenda might induce. And in your shortsighted quest for profits and allegiance to the dollar, you have put our very survival as a civilization and as a race in jeopardy."

"You and your collaborators are always going on how you were out to save humanity. I suppose you thought that if you could give yourselves a grandiose enough of a designation than you could conjure up a justification for cold-blooded murder. But there lies the truth in your violence. You and your team really are just intolerant luddites who, contrary to nature, progressed from the monkey wrench to assassin's blade. So if you would kill one visionary, where does it end? I suppose you would kill me next, if you had the chance?"

"I wouldn't kill you, Osborne. You should know perfectly well that I am the gentlest of everyone here on this island."

"Now you're just trying to absolve yourself from punishment for your crimes."

"I guarantee you that I wouldn't harm anybody here, or in Oscorp, or in the entire scientific community because they're all smaller."

"In what ways are they smaller?" Osborne was beginning to get irritated.

"Intellectually smaller."

One of the other prisoners, a certain Karl Johnson, saw that Foswell's hands were balled up into fists and although of small stature, he was leaning forward in a pugilistic stance, like he was just waiting for an opening to take a swing at Osborne. He tried to cut in at this point with a conciliatory tone. "Alright, there's no point in discussing anything because we'll never come to an agreement. Fred, what are you doing? He's got a gun. He's probably just waiting for an excuse to kill us. This is just the whiskey talking." Evidently Foswell had managed to find a drink or two after their defeat.

"He wouldn't dare! He already has too much to answer for. How would he explain murdering us in cold blood?"

"I'm still waiting for you to elaborate more on your giant intellect," taunted Osborne.

"That's enough!" said a panicky Karl.

"Look at that lying hypocrite," seethed Foswell. "Tapping his pistol, just to remind us that we're at his mercy. Take that away, what are you? Nothing but a weak, little moron."

"Quit antagonizing him!" At first Osborne thought that Karl was talking to Foswell, but to his surprise, surmised that this comment was directed at him. "Can't you see he's suffered enough? Leave us alone!" Karl tried to direct Foswell by the shoulders away from facing down Osborne, but he resisted and accidentally elbowed Karl in the jaw, causing him to double over, clutching his mouth. "Ow! Dammit, Fred!"

Osborne heartily laughed at this exchange, but quickly became serious. "Perhaps you're right, Dr. Johnson. I did not come here to revel in my victory, but rather because I need your help with a matter, that must not be taken lightly."

"You got some nerve, Osborne, to expect us to help you." Foswell continued to steam.

"It is somewhat of an imposition, I am aware, and I wouldn't ask if it wasn't of the utmost importance. As you know, Dr. Auchmann's ruse of wiring all of the buildings with explosives achieved his objective of destroying virtually all of the hybrid specimens and the research, but we have reason to believe that a hostile, invasive plant was created and was released into the forest here on the island. We of course haven't been able to do extensive tests into the nature of this genetically modified plant, only that it seems to spread at an alarming rate."

"A GMO plant was released here? And you aren't concerned that it could pose a threat?"

"Of course, I was concerned, and I will not dispute your expertise as a botanist, but as you were not available, Iraklis has decided not to bother doing anything with it. My scientists have assured me that it shouldn't be a threat to the local ecosystem, so the official decision was to abandon the plant here. But I must confess that I have my doubts as to whether this is indeed the best decision."

" _Your_ scientists? Who in particular came with this ridiculous assessment?" asked Foswell incredulously.

"Well as you weren't available, naturally Dr. William Allen was willing to offer his expert opinion."

"Expert? Hah!" Foswell scoffed.

"I have my doubts," conceded Osborne.

"The opinion of William?"

"I would like to clarify this matter before we leave."

"A genetically modified, hostile weed? Is that what we're talking about here?"

"I was actually just on my way to talk to Dr. Allen for his guarantee that we can in good conscience leave this plant here, with no chance of it spreading, even infecting other countries."

"William couldn't tell Whitetop Weed from Wild Parsnip."

"And yet Iraklis would have me believe that his expertise is a match for your own."

"Well then, I'd better go and take a look at it."

"Take a look at what?" asked Karl in surprise.

"To see this noxious weed that Connors created."

Karl pulled Foswell aside. "Are you crazy? You can't go with him, while he's brandishing that gun and preaching vengeance for Connors!"

Foswell turned back to Osborne. "It's decided then. If you leave the gun here, I'll agree to examine this weed of yours."

Osborne responded, "Of course, leaving the gun is of no consequence. But the path into the jungle is quite rugged. I could not impose upon you such a venture."

Foswell got his back up. "You're lecturing me on rugged jungle paths? I've ventured down plenty of jungle trails, let me tell you. If you can do it, being a city bred pantywaist, then it will literally be a walk in the park for me. Especially if it means protecting the world from another invasive plant species. And as for William, he's an idiot. Let us be off."

"Well then you had best put on these masks," Osborne handed Karl and Foswell protective white masks to prevent the breathing of pollen, then he went ahead of them and spoke in an undertone to the guard. "These men have been infected with a contagious bioweapon. I'm afraid that they must be quarantined, but I take personal responsibility, Corporal." The terrified soldier held his breath as the men walked by.

They made their way past the smouldering wreckage that was the compound for hybrid research, and took a path that led into the forest. They walked past some fairly large trees, and the trail wound it's way around some rocky outcroppings and then followed the terrain as it ascended, climbing towards the mountain.

As they climbed, Osborne paused to catch his breath. "And how are you, Foswell? Why don't you stop to take a breather?"

"Typical city slicker. You're soft and out of shape, Osborne," mocked Foswell. "We're short on time, as you said. You can stop to do your nails later. But right now, we need to get to wherever this plant is so we can get back before dark."

"As you wish, Foswell. You're right, a little exercise won't kill us."

The dappled light of the sun filtered through the trees, and Osborne pulled a floppy wide brimmed hat out of his bag, as they couldn't always count on refreshing shade from the foliage. As he did so, Foswell's eyes flashed and he laughed. "My God, Osborne. Are you wearing a LYMP?"

"A what?"

"A LYMP. You don't understand?"

"You're asking if I have a limp?"

"Ah, so you are not an M? Of course you are not. For a second I thought you were wearing the yellow pin of Mensa."

"Not I."

"Obviously it is impossible that you would be an M." Foswell continued laughing heartily. "Honestly I don't know what I was thinking. _You_. A member of Mensa. Oh well, it is certainly good to laugh. But let us continue to this weed infestation."

"Yes. Let's continue." Osborne extended his arm, directing Foswell and Karl up the path. The climbing grew steeper, and Osborne procured a walking stick to support himself on the rocky terrain. Osborne guided them towards the ledge of a ravine, where a creek flowed fifteen meters below. There was rich greenery that could be seen, accompanied by the babbling of the brook, altogether making for a very pleasant location. Osborne paused at the edge of the cliff face, indicating that they had reached their destination, while Foswell vainly looked around for the plant in question, all to no avail.

"Come," gestured Osborne. "You can see the plants down there in the gully. Now William, he was positive-"

"William's a fool," Foswell interrupted, holding up his hand, as he walked rather unsteadily towards the edge, where Osborne was waiting. As he approached the lookout over the ravine, while he continued to scan the landscape for the weeds, Osborne straightaway gave him a shove, sending him tumbling and rolling grotesquely down the craggy bluff. As soon as Karl ran to the edge to look on Foswell's involuntary descent, he felt the solid weight of Osborne's wooden staff upon his head, knocking him out cold. Once Karl slumped to the ground next to Osborne's feet, he was able to consider how Foswell was making out in his plunge to the bottom.

Once Foswell had stopped rolling and had realized what had happened, he unleashed a torrent of abuse up the bluff, which even the least generous of individuals would grant, that in this case was warranted.

"What the hell, Osborne? Good God!"

"Yes. Pray to the God that caused you to bleed, Foswell."

"Aw jeez. I think my leg is broke. I can't freaking walk! And I'm stuck down here! Was this your plan all along? But what of this genetically modified weed? Surely we must attend to it? For the greater good?"

"True," Osborne replied, "there is the weed."

As he spoke those words, he busied himself securing the unconscious Karl to a tree, tying his hands together with a zip tie.

"Osborne," came the plaintive cry from the bottom of the ravine, "Osborne, surely you can't just leave me here? Not like this?" The effects of the alcohol evidently were wearing off.

"I suspect that you will not be left alone for long, Foswell. Soon the ants and the buzzards will be here to keep you company," he said coldly.

"But Harold," Foswell pleaded. "Why?"

"You dare to presume upon my mercy?" raged Osborne. "You murdered Julian Connors in cold blood. And so you must die! Justice demands it."

Foswell responded with a few despondent moans, and then screams for help. Help that would never come, for there was no one to hear. Finally Foswell said, "Come Harold. You don't want to do this. This isn't you, my friend. You don't want this on your conscience. You don't want this on your soul! Osborne!"

"Yes. As long as justice as served, I must be gone."

To these words, Osborne listened for a reply from the chasm, but was met with stony silence.

"Foswell!" he called, to no reply. So he called again, "Foswell!" but to no answer still. "Very well, Foswell. Karl Johnson. _In pace requiescat!"_ he kissed his fingers and touched his forehead in farewell. _"Do svidaniya, comrade."_

Martin Li was feeling extremely nervous. Iraklis' forces had captured him, and while he had been happily enjoying anonymity amongst the other prisoners, he had been identified as one of the conspirators and now had been summoned to see Iraklis in person. He was very apprehensive, having heard that Iraklis had been horribly injured and reasoning that this could only have a foul effect on his mood and sense of charity.

He was ushered into the tent that was serving as a makeshift headquarters for Iraklis to not only direct the cleanup of the island, but also to convalesce. There, he was directed to Iraklis who was propped up in a cot, and wearing a convex plastic mask over his eyes. As he approached, he was struck by a sense of pity seeing Iraklis and his injuries, yet intrepidly carrying out his duties, having many attendants reading and dictating information to him.

As he entered, the guard at the entrance introduced him, "Dr. Martin Li is here to see you, sir."

"Li? Ah good. Show him in. How are you, Martin? Is the prisoner camp to your liking? I don't say that to be impudent, but rather out of sincere concern. We have already begun the process of rebuilding and there is no sense in rubbing salt into old wounds or revisiting past grievances. So have you been receiving fair treatment?"

"Um, yes," Martin stammered. "I mean, I should say so. But the only thing…"

"Yes, what is it?" Iraklis turned in his direction blindly.

"The only thing would be is perhaps we could use another ration of water. To fulfill all of our needs: washing, even brushing our teeth."

"Consider it done. That is, if you could possibly do something for me."

Martin felt his heart jump into his throat. "I will certainly try."

"I would like an honest assessment of my condition. The doctors here are proving themselves to be most unobliging in this respect."

"I'm certain that your medics would feel more confident if you were off to see an ophthalmologist as soon as possible."

"I certainly will, as soon as is possible, but in the meantime all of you quacks and sawbones will have to do. Remind me, what is your medical background?"

"Psychiatry. I may not be a field surgeon or an ophthalmologist, but I am an experienced physician, so I will do my best. I assume that a gross examination of each eye and orbital has already been assessed. What was the nature of the injury?"

"I was hit full in the face by the blast of an explosion. One final gift from Dr. Auchmann."

Martin removed the protective shield to look at the mangled eyes of Iraklis. "Have you administered broad spectrum antibiotics through his IV? I've heard a combination of ceftazadime and vanomycin is recommended."

"Yes Doctor," responded one of the nurses.

"I did happen to read up on common battlefield trauma when I came here," smiled Martin, trying to calm his own nerves and hoping that everyone else would keep a positive frame of mind. He gently touched the tissue around the eyes for swelling, but there was plain evidence of inflammation and hematoma. "I cannot open your eyelids. I have to assume that the swelling harbours a ruptured globe. Your doctors were right, Mr. Iraklis. The priority should be to transport you to an ophthalmic OR as soon as possible."

"I am aware of that, Doctor. What I want to know is; what are my chances of being able to see again?"

"There are many factors to consider. We can't know everything without at least a CT scan and an MRI, to detect foreign matter and check for blast-induced traumatic brain injury, which often leads to loss of vision. Also, I remember reading of an excellent computer modeling program developed by Dr. Vicky Nguyen that could help us diagnose the extent of your injury and subsequent treatment."

"Will this computer model actually help me if my eyes are burned out?"

"Well perhaps not. There's no way to know for sure unless we try. The problem is that treatment for eye trauma has been impeded by the lack of suitable animal models that recapitulate the initial injury. If we entered your injury into the computer model-"

"But is this model designed to help with treatment?" demanded Iraklis.

"Well, no," admitted an increasingly uncomfortable Martin. "It was more designed with the objective of developing protective eye armour, but I'm sure-"

"So I just want to make sure that I got this right. Treatment for eye trauma is limited because of a lack of animal testing. Much like the animal testing that Dr. Connors was performing. Correct me if I am wrong, Doctor."

Martin began to squirm so much that even Iraklis could perceive his discomfort. Finally he said, "In all honesty, Mark, based on what I've seen of your injury, the probability that you will be able to see again is essentially nil. I am very sorry." He held in his breath to see if he had just signed his own death warrant.

After some very tense moments, Iraklis said, "I greatly appreciate your honesty, Martin. Lieutenant!" He called the attention of Scott Washington, who was working nearby. "Please see to it that Dr. Li receives sufficient water to clean himself and enough to drink as well. And give a checkover that the prisoners are being treated fairly. We must now look to the future."

This response shocked Martin, but then gave him pause for doubt. Could it be that therein lay some coded message; some order of execution? "Forgive me, Mark," he said unexpectedly. "Somehow we lost our way and watched ourselves almost like spectators as we committed many evil acts outside of our ethical construct. I feel terrible, for many things."

"You are full of fear, Martin, but it serves you poorly. Better that you preserve this penitent spirit, and God will forgive everything. I have learned that there is no sin that exceeds God's boundless love and that he loves me even in my sin. We must only take care that we continue to look to God in penitence, for that facilitates the absolute conquest of fear."

Martin was beside himself with wonder. "I must say that I am speechless, this reaction in you is so unexpected. How are you able to find such forgiveness in your heart?"

"Don't think that I haven't spent so much time with you scientific types that I haven't been able to absorb something, Professor," smiled Iraklis. "Are you familiar with Professor Carl Thoresen's research dubbed the Stanford Forgiveness Project? Their conclusions demonstrated scientifically that forgiveness could positively enhance emotional and physical health, while noting that very few people understand what forgiveness is and how it works. That's about as far as scientists have gotten with all of their wisdom. From my own experience, I have found that man first of all exists, encounters himself, surges up in the world; and then defines himself afterwards. Well, I plan in choosing to act essentially as a good person, and not define myself by cruel actions. To achieve this, I must be constantly conscious of the potential consequences of my actions, but I must retain control over my choices available for goodness by avoiding despair.

"Despair comes from standing before God, or your concept of God, and at being in despair at not willing to be oneself, or in despair at willing to be oneself. Put simply this is sin. But the beauty of having faith in God is that you can evaluate your actions in the face of God and in this way truly judge whether something is bad or good. Even when we screw up, we have the potential to undo the evil that has been committed. That is why it was commanded long ago; 'be ye kind one to another, forgiving one another freely, even as God also in Christ forgave you.' These words continue to transcend the narrow-minded scientific method so often practiced today.

"So go in peace, Martin, and do not be afraid. I have learned from these musings to not take offence at people's wrongs. I have truly forgiven the dead for the harm that they wrought, so that I may sincerely reconcile with him. If we are repentant, it means that we are capable of love. And if we love, then we already belong to God."

"I don't know what to say," said Martin, with tears in his eyes. "I have never been a religious man, and I am ashamed to admit that I never thought of you as a religious man either."

"I wasn't. But I am still free to create myself and then live in accordance with that self that I choose. We all must allow our actual values to be our guide us to make that choice instead of allowing those choices to be made for us, as so many do these days."

"Thank you, so much, Mr. Iraklis. I really thought I would die on this island. I genuinely wish you all the best in your recovery."

"There's no need to thank me, Martin, for no one is your judge now. I'm less worthy than anyone of being your judge! But may God forgive you. If even I, a sinful man, just like you, Martin, was moved to tenderness and felt pity for you, just imagine how much more so God will be. Love is such a priceless treasure that you can buy the whole world with it and redeem not only your own but other people's sins. Go, and do not be afraid."

Martin Li felt he could breathe the fresh air once again, like someone who had just received a last-minute reprieve from the red jaws of death; and the sky looked all the bluer for it.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

In the dark alleys and shadowy streets of Sydney, Tom was searching for the address he had been given to meet Frank Castle's contact. Castle had set them up with a guy to provide them with fake ID's, passports and even plane tickets to Mexico City. That was the easy part. Everything went pretty smooth, too. They just had to pay. Surprisingly, Castle even gave them some cash for their journey, cutting them in on the black-market sale of the helicopter.

Once Tom and Elias arrived in Mexico, then the fun began. Tom didn't know anything about how to illegally enter the United States, but fortunately, there were plenty of people willing to help out in that regard. They just needed someone to introduce them, because they were running short on time.

Not knowing whom else to call, Tom phoned up his photojournalist friend, Carmen. "Sure, I know someone who could hook you up, but is this really something that you want to do?" she asked doubtfully. "I mean, the illegal human smuggling world is very dangerous. My friend is a journalist who investigated human trafficking and smuggling and she still has to watch her back after the story she published."

"Thanks for the warning, but I seriously need this. I have to get into the U.S. and quickly. There are Americans that are looking for me too, so I may as well take my chances with the gangsters down here."

"Well, alright, I just hope you know what you're doing. How is your Spanish?"

"It's… passable."

"Okay, I hope so, because my friend Lydia speaks some English but she'll probably only talk to you in Spanish out of being self-conscious."

"I'm sure we'll get by."

"Good luck."

Tom arranged to meet Carmen's friend Lydia in a small cantina in Nezahualcóyotl to find out how to make arrangements to sneak across the border. In the dimly lit diner, he found his way to the table where they had agreed to meet, where a short woman wearing sunglasses and a scarf was already sitting. _"¿Está ocupada?"_ he asked about the other chair.

" _Depende,"_ she responded, without looking up.

" _Soy el amigo de Carmen, Tom. Eso es Elías,"_ he said, introducing Elias.

" _Siéntate,"_ she said, _"¿Hablan español?"_

Tom said, _"Más o menos,"_ and Elias shook his head.

"Nous pouvons parler français si est-ce que chose préférable," she said.

Tom looked at Elias, who was still only getting bits and pieces. "Je parle français un petit peu," Tom said, but then switched back to Spanish, _"pero español está bien."_

"D'accord," she said in French, but then got right down to business in Spanish. _"¿Are you crazy? I cannot understand what possible reason you could have for wanting to enter the United States illegally. No hay sentido."_

" _Yes, my reasons are complicated but they are my own."_

" _No, no, no,"_ she said, waving her finger in his face. _"If you want me to help you then you have to tell me everything. Starting with, why do you need to go to the States and why is it such a big secret?"_

" _Bueno. Basically, we're doctors, and there is a very sick patient who desperately needs our attention. If she doesn't get it in the next few days, then she is going to die. It's very serious. The situation is more complicated because we have enemies who are waiting for us at the border. So, we need to cross into the U.S. without these guys noticing and then make our way to New York to try to save this sick woman."_

" _If that is true and you want to go with the Coyotes, you should know that it is not an easy way nor a safe one. These men are violent betrayers. Most of them also work with the narcotraficantes."_

" _Don't worry about it,"_ said Tom, smiling. " _We're going to be really careful. So how do you suggest we cross over? In a big truck? ¿In the trunk of some car?"_

" _These are the worst ways to do it. You at least have the advantage of being gringos, so nobody is going to ask to see your documents while you are in México. You can travel the whole country like a couple of kings. No, my recommendation is to go to the city of Altar and there, you can hire some Coyotes to take you across la línea."_

"Why does she keep talking about the coyotes?" asked a bewildered Elias, trying to follow the conversation.

"Coyotes is what we call the people that take _los migrantes_ across the border," explained Lydia in fluent English.

" _¿And do you have contacts with these Coyotes that can help us?"_ asked Tom.

" _Yes, of course. My mother's family is from Lebanon, and from my contacts within the community, I know the best Coyotes that can take you across the border through the tunnels."_

" _¿Así? Bueno. Its seems to me that going through the tunnels would be the safest way."_

" _But, you have to pay. Passage through the tunnels is not cheap. But yes, it would seem that that would be the safest option."_

" _Who are these Lebanese that are digging tunnels to the U.S?"_

" _It is better not to ask questions. These people don't even deserve to be called 'humans'. They are among the most cruel and violent men in the world. Son hombres de mala ley,"_ she whispered in a very hushed tone, _"animales de mierda que no son capaces de hacer nada que no sean desgracias."_ [1]

" _Right, I understand the dangers, and while my flesh may suffer fear, I cannot. We have suffered too much to get to this point and we are not going to turn back now. So forward we must go! But I need to know, who are these Lebanese men that are working with the Coyotes?"_

" _Is it not obvious? They are Hezbollah, trafficking its agents into the United States. They have the expertise to dig the best tunnels, and in return, get a cut of the narco-beneficios or even worse, smuggle terrorists into America."_

" _I have heard of your reputation as a journalist, Lydia. I know that you have investigated the most violent and powerful people in your country. For example, I read your investigation into the murders of the women in Ciudad Juárez. So I just want to say that I really respect you as a journalist and for your courage."_

" _Thank you, but I am no heroine. I am a citizen of this world, I love my country, and I know my rights. But the sad reality is that the situation is going from bad to worse, and unless something big changes, all that we can expect to see from this pointless war is more violence, more death, fewer human rights for the innocent of society, and without a doubt, the mocking laughter of the narcotraficantes."_ As she said this, Lydia took off her sunglasses, revealing a rare and exquisite beauty, a strikingly gorgeous latin face, that also bespoke her middle eastern heritage.

" _I agree that if we are to enjoy our rights and freedoms, then we must assume our responsibilities when it comes to defending the weak, and fighting for justice. I have a lot of respect for you and your work."_

" _If you really have so much respect for me, then why do you not listen to me when I tell you that this journey you are planning is sheer folly. I still do not understand if it is just a case of machismo, or perhaps you do not fully understand the evil of these people and how dangerous they really are."_

 _"When you put it that way, Lydia, then I feel I must tell you about why I am doing this. Basically, I'm taking these risks because I'm in love with a woman who is in desperate need of medical attention that only we can offer her. For love is as strong as death, and it allows us to do things we never thought possible. Maybe it sounds like a tired old expression, but it is true. So no it is nothing new; but she is my life, and for me she is a very special discovery. It is not only the fire that burns between us but all of life, the simple story, the simple love of a woman and a man, just like everyone._ _ **[2]**_ _So I'm willing to endanger my life if there's any chance of saving hers."_ As Tom was speaking, her hand went to her bosom, a movement that was not lost on him while he stole glances at her blessedly ample cleavage.

" _Andale pues, I cannot refuse you when you talk like a poet. Although I am not in agreement with your decision, I will try to help you, and I wish you success in your mission. Good luck. You are going to need it, and may God bless you."_

After they left the cantina, Elias peppered Tom with questions about the plan and what he had agreed to with Lydia. "Try not to worry about it," Tom tried to reassure him. "I have all the contact info to get started, and after that we'll have to fly by the seat of our pants a little bit, but we should be okay. For now, let's just try to do our best to not get caught in the crossfire between rival drug cartels. And if we can avoid that, it should be smooth sailing." Tom tried to laugh, but Elias wasn't amused.

"Is that supposed to be a joke? Because if it is, it's not very funny."

"Yeah, you're right. It's not my best work. Anyways, we will have to be careful and pay attention to what's going on, but we should be able to stay out of trouble if we keep our heads down."

"How are we supposed to keep our heads down if we're hiring human traffickers to smuggle us across the border?"

"Here," Tom handed Elias a black balaclava, "Put this on. We'll do our best to hide our identities and see if we can get though this process without drawing too much attention to ourselves. What do you think?" Tom proceeded to don his Nacho Libre mask.

Elias stared at Tom in his ridiculous luchador outfit and could only shake his head. "Why would we draw attention to ourselves? We're just two white guys, trying to sneak across the American border, while one of them is dressed like a Mexican wrestler. I'm sure they see this kind of thing all the time."

"There you go, that's the spirit! Now let's get this over with. I'll explain the procedure on the way, and the plan as we go." Tom walked on ahead, with a bounce in his step, like he really knew where he was going.

"I guess you'll tell me the plan when you've figured it out yourself," muttered Elias, as he checked to make sure his revolver was cleaned and loaded. "So, we're not exactly here in Mexico legally, are we?"

"No, we're not legal, per se, but of course we have the advantage of appearing to be American tourists, so that's something. Hopefully the local cops won't bother us."

"I disagree. We look totally suspicious. And if they figure out that we're armed, they'll take us for drug traffickers, smugglers, you name it. And because we're here illegally, we have no rights."

"Well, that's why we're going to lay low, and be super careful so as not to draw attention to ourselves. But we will have to travel with the rest of the illegal migrants."

"How do we do that?"

"We're heading to the railroad tracks as we speak," said Tom, as he hailed a cab, "The migrants travel by a train, colourfully known as ' _La bestia,'_ or the Beast. But I'm sure it's just a case of the Mexicans giving everything cute little nicknames."

Elias just shook his head in disgust.

* * *

[1] Quote from Gabriel García Márquez, basically meaning: "They are men without conscience, animals born from excrement that do not do anything unless it is to cause suffering."

[2] Pablo Neruda – The Captain's Verses


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Tom and Elias waited by the tracks in the forest for the train to pass, while Elias methodically checked his weapons, and his other gear in his little backpack. He was packing two pistols, a large hunting knife, and peculiar looking short dagger. "That's quite the little knife," remarked Tom.

"It's a dirk," replied Elias, "My grandfather gave it to me." Elias turned it over in his hands, allowing the moonlight to glint off its razor edge. "It's a traditional Highland dagger. He brought it over from Scotland."

"Is that where you're from?" realizing for the first time, that a bit of a brogue came through in Elias' speech, especially when he was under pressure.

"I was born and bred in Boston," he said, "but I was raised to always feel I was a proud Scot."

"Where did you learn to fight?"

"Some things are borne of necessity. I grew up in a bit of rough neighbourhood, but I didn't start carrying a gun with me until I did a year with Doctors Without Borders in Haiti. There I learned that there is always evil lurking in the hearts of men, and in a disaster or otherwise extreme situations, you have to be prepared for violent confrontation if you're to protect the ones you've already sacrificed so much to save. But I'll tell you, I was a bit of a hothead back then, and I developed a deep-seated hatred for thugs, bullies, and gang members who make their way through life pushing other people around. Now that we're undertaking this dangerous journey, I can't promise that I won't react brutally when we're threatened."

"Just as long as we don't lose our heads, literally or figuratively," said Tom. "We'll no doubt have to choose our battles, while keeping our focus on getting across to New York in one piece. If we try to save all of the orphans of Mexico we'll never make it. Better to live to fight another day, and come back in force if that's what we want to do."

Their attention was averted by the sound of a train engine and the clickety clack of wheels on tracks. As the fearsome freight train zoomed past, Tom broke into a run and quickly jumped onto a ladder on one of the freight cars. Climbing up a few rungs, he reached down and grabbed Elias' outstretched hand to haul him up as well. Then they proceeded to make their way up the ladder in the gathering dark, feeling their way while wondering how the madding crowd, huddled together on the top of the car, would receive them.

Near the top, Tom could make out in the gloom, the shadowy outline of a leg hanging off of the side. He gingerly felt around, to try and not overtly disturb the owner of said leg, who evidently was trying to rest as best he could, while not rolling off of the moving train. Tom and Elias searched for whatever bit of space they could find on the crowded roof, as people grumbled to make space and only grunted or looked frightened as Tom said, " _Con permiso,"_ and, " _Perdón."_

They passed a long night as the train continued to wind it's way through the wilderness at a rapid pace, and as the sun rose, Tom could see that hundreds of migrants were doing their best to cling to survival and their dignity as they sat in their precarious positions on the freight cars.

In Tom and Elias' immediate vicinity, there were many interesting looking characters. There were probably at least twenty people on their car alone, and each car carried about the same amount. Surrounding them, there were a few young girls, a boy who looked like he was in his early teens, and some decidedly unpleasant looking men who were unshaven, and all around greasy looking. Sitting nearby Tom was also some young men who looked to be in their twenties and seemed more simpatico, but were doing their best to appear tough. Tom thought he might as well make friends. " _Hola. ¿Qué tal? Me llamo Tomás. ¿Cuál es su nombre?"_

The young man looked hesitant to respond, and shot a furtive glance at one of the rough looking men, who appeared to be watching, but finally responded, " _Me llamo Juicho."_

" _And where are you from?"_

" _Guatemala."_

The ugly man responded, " _What is your interest, gringo, and why do you cover your face?"_

Tom realized he had garnered unwanted attention, and perhaps the Nacho Libre mask did little to hide the fact that he was white. _"That is my business,"_ Tom replied, _"and I do not have to explain myself."_

" _But you do have to explain yourself. Here you are dressed like a clown and asking lots of questions. How do you hope that I will not kill you?"_

Tom held up his hands. _"Whoa. Tranquilo, amigo. It's fine, don't worry. I am going to mind my own business from now on."_

The train ride went on, and the merciless sun punished the poor migrants riding without any shelter on the hot steel freight cars. Elias had observed Tom's little confrontation with their hostile fellow passengers, and kept a wily eye on them, especially the greasy one with the long black hair and moustache that Tom had talked with. He seemed to be drinking _guarro_ , or some kind of purified strong liquor, and the more he drank, the more he gave unwelcome attention to one of young girls sitting near him. Finally she yelled something and tried to move away from him, and this just made him angry. _"You dare resist me, puta? I am going to teach you some respect and how to act like a woman."_ The greasy customer went after her and pinned her to the iron carriage with his superior weight, as he prepared to have his way with her. Everyone looked discomforted by her screams and wriggling, but most were too frightened to do anything and just looked away, hoping that they would not be next.

Elias rose to his feet, but two of the slimy man's companions moved to block his way. _"And where do you think you're going, gringo?"_ one of them asked.

Tom also got to his feet and made his way behind them, so now it was fair, two goons versus him and Elias. The two thugs glanced over their shoulders to evaluate the new threat, giving Elias the opportunity to draw his gun. One of the girls nearby let out a little scream and hid her head in her hands. "You going to shoot me, _viejo?"_ I can see that you don't have the balls." The thug rushed towards Elias, while reaching for his own pistol. Tom leaped forward and slid along the steel panel of the train car with one leg outstretched, tripping the goon, who fell flat on his face. Tom was immediately on his back, slamming his head into the iron freight car again and again.

Taking advantage of this confusion, Elias also advanced, and plunged his big knife into the leg of the other thug. As he screamed in pain, Tom pushed off the back of the other guy's head and cartwheeled a kick into the stabbed man's face, sending him hurtling off of the side of the train.

Elias then laid into the other guy, who was trying to get his feet under him to launch a counter attack. Elias got some punches in, but the goon landed a left hook, knocking Elias back and in a daze. Tom came back, and wrapping his arm around the goon's throat, pushed his legs out from under him and then threw him, judo style into a huge cactus that they happened to be passing by.

As Elias sat on his haunches, he made eye contact with the first greasy man, still lying prostrate over the wretched young girl. The man opened his mouth as if to say something, but Elias fired his pistol, stone faced, shooting the man in the forehead. Tom picked up the lifeless rapist off of the girl and rolled him off the train car. Elias stayed frozen where he was, and Tom motioned him to check on the girl and give her medical attention.

Unfortunately, their meagre supplies did not include much of a first aid kit. But mostly they just tried to comfort the pitiful and scared little woman, to reassure her that she would be okay for now. They soon learned that her name was Maira, that she was from Guatemala, and that she was fleeing violence and poverty back home in a desperate bid for a better life in the U.S. Her face was spattered with blood and gore, and lacking much water or rags, they ended up smearing it rather than cleaning it off of her properly. As the sun blackened the dried blood on her face, Tom remarked inwardly that it was really a blessing that they had no mirrors, for she would have been truly horrified if she could have seen herself.

They also befriended another young woman named Claudeth, who was from Quintana Roo, in the South Eastern edge of Mexico. She evidently had disturbingly chilling reasons for fleeing her home to seek a better life, and was not interesting in talking about it.

Tom sat next to Elias, who had his elbows up on his knees and was staring into the distance in a very pensive mood. "That was a hell of a fight," laughed Tom, trying to lighten their spirits. "I thought you were going to positively spit fire onto those hooligans."

Elias looked down, and felt the weight of his .44 Magnum in his sling holster. "Well he wasn't the first villain that I've had to put on ice, and I daresay he will nae be the last. God I hate these bastards who are capable of such abominable cruelty. Some call them animals, but my good friend Pea-ulī genetically speaking, was more animal than man, and he would never treat another creature with such hateful savagery. We defame the poor speechless beasts when we compare them to such wicked fiends as these savages. And what's more, it seems that it's a universal human trait. These sociopaths are to be found in every nation and culture, wherever the circumstances allow them to indulge their vicious appetites on the weak with impunity from the law. And while we pride ourselves on the great civilized nature of our society, these evil monsters lurk all the more often in the growing shadow of corruption that has taken a firm foothold in all corners of the world." He looked at Tom, "So much needless suffering and death. What can men do in the face of such reckless hate?"

"We fight," said Tom, "And that fight begins here." He pointed to his heart. "If we maintain space in here for forgiveness, than we escape all the bitterness piled upon bitterness held in the face of the things that we may never understand about the human condition. We intellectualize over and over, but this helplessness suits us, and then these answers come as lies; making us our own destroyer. We really are just waiting for some simple signal to creep across our conscience and uncover some sense of redemption for all our sins. But in the end, if we are to find any shreds of happiness in this life, we cannot let ourselves to be conquered by the evil in it, but we do our best to keep conquering the evil with the good."

"But how do you begin to do that?" asked Elias in wonder. "You could try to do good things Oprah style by building schools, or we can try to save peoples lives from illness and disease; but some may say that either occupation just serves to pass the time until our own day comes to deliver our soul to the yawning grave. But as to what's right and what's good - you must leave that to Him Who knows all things; it is not for us to decide."

"Supposing that you are right and there is no one doing good in the world, I am still fascinated by the reaction that our actions summon in others. While it is true that one will scarcely choose to die for a saint, but peradventure for the good man some would even dare to die. I think you live each day, and you take one case at a time, and with each person that you meet, you try to see the good in them."

"And what of those who are strong who would crush those who are weak? What do we do when we consider all the oppressions that are being done under the sun; and behold the tears of such as were oppressed; because we know that on the side of their oppressors there is power; and yet these poor have no comforter."

"When you put it that way, it's overwhelming when you realize that you can't help or save everybody. I suppose we have to content ourselves to try and make whatever small of a difference in the world, and defend the weak with whatever we have."

""After I applied my heart unto every work that is done under the sun; there is a time wherein one man ruleth over another to his own hurt.' So said the wise man, and it remains truer than ever; we continue to be injured by the powerful and victimized by tyranny. If God wills that evil be vanquished, will any of us be alive to see it?"

"If we forgive our executioners with our dying breath and refuse to be squeezed into the evil mould of this black-hearted world, then we can truly conquer it."

Their conversation drew the curious attention of a gangly youth that was seated near them. Tom made conversation with him, and soon learned that at fourteen years of age, he was in fact older than he appeared, that his name was Omar and he was from El Salvador.

" _What are you looking for in the United States? Work?"_ Tom asked.

" _Como no,"_ Omar replied. Meaning, of course, _"but mostly I'm looking for my mom. My mother left for the States five years ago, and I don't want to be separated from her anymore. I am going to find her so that we can be a family again."_

" _I sincerely hope that you can do that."_

As the voyage through the wilds of Mexico dragged on, Tom began to feel very weak and tired. He expressed his feelings to Elias, who retorted that that was to be expected on an adventure such as this. But Tom insisted that something else was happening to him.

"Perhaps you've contracted a parasite," suggested Elias. "That would not be surprising considering where we've been."

"That's true, but I fear it's something all the more inconvenient for us. I suppose you've surmised that I am a hybrid."

"I figured that you're were juiced up with something, yes, after seeing the way you move. What are you getting at?"

"Well I think that the animal DNA is being replaced and I'm losing my enhanced abilities."

"Let's take a look at you here. What makes you think that?"

"This sickly feeling I have, it reminds me of how I felt when I first introduced the foreign DNA into my system." They were interrupted as the train started to slow down and apply the screeching brakes.

"That's weird," spouted Elias. They were further unsettled by the sound of screaming from the front of the train.

"Oh no," said Tom.

" _¡Son los Zetas!"_ someone screamed from ahead of them.

"What in blazes are the Zetas?" shouted Elias.

"They're one of the most brutal cartels in Mexico," moaned Tom. "They're more like a terrorist organization than just a gang because they specialize in kidnapping, sexual exploitation and murder. They're the mafia on steroids. To keep the government and citizens in line, they decapitate everyone that gets in the way and then use that to send a message of fear and intimidation. You have to take the guns and escape into the jungle."

"Why me?" spluttered Elias. "Isn't that more your kind of stunt?"

"Normally it would be, but I'm in no condition to make a getaway now. You're reasonably healthy. You have to stay out of sight, and wait for an opportunity to bust us out. Go! Now! Before they see you! I'll stay here with the kids." Tom smiled.

Elias shrugged in defeat. "Fine. But I may need you to give me nudge out the door."

Tom didn't wait to be asked twice. He rapidly used his last ounce of prodigious strength to toss Elias off the train with their gear, where a tree disguised his exit and he landed unceremoniously in a muddy pile of vegetation. His cursing conveyed to Tom that he was bruised but otherwise unhurt, and fortunately was drowned out by the screeching of the train for any gang member to hear. After looking to see that Elias was for the most part uninjured, Tom turned to vomit off of the side of the train car.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

As the train ground to a halt, fearsome looking men surrounded the train, shouting orders and wielding an excessive amount of automatic weaponry. Tom was rounded up with the rest of the passengers as they were separated into groups. Tom tried to not draw attention to himself, even taking off his mask, but try as he might, he could not blend in with the other migrants on the train. Soon he was padded down, frisked and robbed of the cash he was carrying, and bound with his hands behind his back.

He was marched down a rugged path into the woods along with a group of about ten other frightened wretches, to a clearing in the trees where they were ordered to sit. One especially hostile gangster slammed the butt of his rifle into Tom's shoulders for good measure. Tom collapsed and lost consciousness.

When Tom returned to his senses, he looked around at his little group of unfortunate souls that had been divided off from the others and was being kept under guard by the constant watchful eye of many of the Zetas and their soldiers. Tom looked over to one of the young girls, Claudeth, to ask what was happening.

At first she just buried her face in her hands, but finally she told him that they were being separated into groups, some were to be forced to work in the drug fields; others were being recruited as drug mules; while still others were being drafted as gunslingers, or soldiers to take the most dangerous jobs. "I wonder which is the disagreeable occupation for which our lucky group has been selected."

Old and mouldy tortillas were distributed among the prisoners, along with some pongy water. Tom refused to eat, and when commanded to by the guard, he responded by throwing up on the ground. Soon, he had garnered the unwelcome attention of the gang members. As they examined him, they started discussing amongst themselves what they should do with him.

" _Look at this gringo. He's sick and weak. He's already full of parasites."_

" _Leave him to die. He's not good for anything."_

" _¿A poco? Of course he's good for something. We'll get his contact information and then demand a ransom for this gringo. When we have an address we'll send them a finger so that they know we're not playing. There's no doubt that this bag of bones is worth a ton of money._ "

After this exchange, the first one who spoke and seemed to think that Tom had a bacteria, kneeled down and looked into his eyes and poked his skin. Tom felt like he was cattle on the auction block, while the third gangster and one who seemed to be in charge, looked on with a cold, black look.

" _Look, Arturo,"_ he said to the leader, _"he's got a fever and he doesn't eat. You know what that means."_

" _Ramses, I'm not a fortune teller."_

" _What I'm trying to say is that we should move him to the house, so that we can keep him alive until we receive the ransom."_

" _I guess that would be fine if he really is fixing to die."_

" _¡Oh sí! Eso sí."_

" _He looks really bad so, put him wherever you want. And keep the rest of this pathetic group with him."_

Soon Tom was dragged, along with the rest of his companions to a rotted and busted down house that was inexplicably managing to support a roof. But it still had four walls, leaning as they were, that managed to keep out the wind and the sun.

In the house, Tom slept a lot, and began to feel somewhat recovered, while he also had the opportunity to observe the Zetas in their comings and goings. They were unsurprisingly a rough bunch of characters, inhabiting one of the most violent and cruel worlds known to man. Some of them were former Mexican military and Special Forces, even having been trained by the CIA to fight the war on drugs before throwing their lot in with the cartels. But after a couple of days in these circumstances, Tom realized he did not wholly agree with Elias' assessment that anyone associated with a drug cartel deserved the gibbet. Tom believed that no class of men is altogether bad, for each has its own faults and virtues; and these narcos were no exception to this rule. They were rough and were willing to resort to depraved brutality; but there were visible glimmers of their virtues. Some of them displayed kindness, especially to women that were of the age that could their mothers; and most were simple, coming from poor backgrounds with little education.

There was one man named Hector, who looked like he could have been in his sixties, and for some reason took a liking to Tom. He would actively seek out opportunities to talk and regale him with his life story. He had been a drug smuggler for the Sinaloa cartel for many years, and was not what you might expect a hardened narco to look like. But despite his grandfatherly aspect, he was the real thing. In total, he had been a _narcotraficante_ for more than fifty years. His father had been a typical poor farmer, growing corn and beans, just like the majority of farmers in Central America, but then, when Hector was in his teens, he started growing marijuana and smuggling his crop into the US, where he could get a much higher price.

He said that he survived all this time by being smart, and keeping a little shop as his alibi. He made a lot of money over the years, but now what he valued more than anything is that he can live out in the open and not hide who he was.

He talked of his regrets, including the loss of his son, who was killed carrying on the family business. _"I am a pioneer in this business, but the business has changed. The people have changed. There's no respect, no nobility, no friendship. And there is no hope. Before if you owed somebody, your word was good. Nowadays, they will kill you if you don't pay right away. This is because of los sicarios that protect the money and the drug shipments, guard the cartel's territory, and are sent out for assassinations. This is not how it was before."_

Omar, the young guy from El Salvador, had been pressed into service by the gangsters as an errand boy, and soon was the unfortunate recipient of the cruellest of treatments. One day he came into the house to distribute the daily ration of tortillas while nursing a bruised limb in silent agony. At first he resisted complaining but after some slight prodding on the parts of Tom and Maira, Omar was raving against the cruelty of Francisco, his chief tormentor, who went by the nickname 'Pancho.'

Tom felt something die inside of him as he heard Omar's accounts of abuse, made all the more painful to digest with the recognition that he no was longer capable of superhuman feats that he so badly wanted to use to right these wrongs. The sheer powerlessness that he felt in the face of these miscarriages of justice made Tom feel very low indeed.

He soon observed the irony of the personality of the gangsters tasked with guarding them. Pancho was lieutenant to Arturo, the captain, and was a seasoned and capable soldier; and a bona fide demon when drunk. Indeed there was a peculiarity with the two main men to Arturo; Ramirez, or 'Ramses' was a mean, son-of-a-bitch when he was sober, and Pancho would not hurt a fly except when he was drinking. Apparently Arturo was the same heartless scoundrel with drink or no.

Tom tried to give moral support to Omar, but there was little reason to be optimistic and Tom was beginning to despair himself of any possibility of hope. He was left with less than a week in the diagnosis of how long Mariah was expected to live, and indeed he had had no communication with her. How he could possibly get to her in time to perform the heart surgery to save her life was beyond his imagination.

In a moment of desperation, and inconceivably finding himself with Pancho in a favourable stage of drink (for he indeed only was in the mood for conversation after having one shot but only up to that point of drunkenness), and while pledging him to secrecy, Tom told him his whole story.

Pancho declared that it was like a ballad; and that he would his best to help him to save the poor young woman's life. _"In the meantime,"_ he said, _"Take courage! You are not the only one in the world that is in a place far away from their loved ones. There are many that are living in a different country when they should be with their children. So many, many! Life is an assortment of things at the best of times. Look at my case. I am the son of a gentleman and practically a doctor but here I am: working with Arturo, the Narco!"_

Tom thought it would be civil to get Pancho to tell his story of how he ended up working as a soldier for the cartel.

Pancho just whistled and said, _"Reasons, reasons I never had. I like to enjoy myself. That's it."_ And with that, he left.

The following night, around eleven o'clock, one of the guards came by and whispered to another of the soldiers, " _Pancho has finally finished him."_ Tom didn't need to hear the name. The sick feeling of dread in his stomach explained to him the rest of the situation. But he did not have a lot of time to dwell on what happened and sort the matter out in his head or far less to whisper it to one of his companions, when the door was flung open and Arturo came marching into the house. He looked around the bunks and shone his torch at the bewildered occupants until he located Tom, walking straight up to him when he did.

Arturo actually adopted a kindly tone, to Tom's surprise, _"Buenos días, amigo. Sorry to bother you, but we need to swap your accommodations with that of the boy. Go to the kitchen to help with the work."_

As Tom stumbled in his groggy state out of the little run down house, he brushed past two soldiers who were caring Omar, who neither spoke nor moved.

Tom entered the rustic structure that served as a kitchen, where he was instructed to boil beans and heat tortillas for the Zetas.

While Tom put forth his best effort to attend to his new duties, he observed the arrival of Ramses in the patio in front of the kitchen, where the men would eat their meals. He gave Arturo a glance with a disappointed expression that meant that Omar was dead as plain as speaking, and then he sat with the rest of the men, shooting glares at Pancho. Pancho for his part, sat without a word, looking hard at the ground.

When Pancho picked up his bottle of rum, Ramses started forward and stole it away from him, crying out that, _"You have already had enough."_

Pancho leaped to his feat in a flash; looking dazed, but he meant murder, and certainly was prepared to do it for the second time that night, had not Arturo stepped in between them.

" _Sit down!"_ Arturo roared. _"You drunken pig, do you realize what you've done? You killed the kid for no reason and for no benefit. What a waste!"_

Pancho seemed to understand; for he sat down and put his hand to his brow.

" _Bueno,"_ he said, _"I did it because he gave me a burnt tortilla."_

Tom was filled with rage at this response, and the others looked at each other with some concern, when Arturo walked up to Pancho and convinced him to go to sleep, as you might speak to a bad child. The murderer crossed himself, and went over to a wall where they kept their icons and lit a candle to _Santa Muerte_ , reciting prayers with trembling lips in front of a terrifying depiction of a skeleton in a wedding gown. Then he retired for the night.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Tom was beginning to feel some of his old strength return, and was even yielding himself to hope that Elias had followed them and was preparing some sort of rescue attempt. Tom decided he needed to communicate and assist him in any way possible. He started keeping a mental tally of how many guards were watching over their corner of the compound where they were being held. He counted fifteen, and using carbon from the fire, drew a large ιε (fifteen in Greek numerals) on a plank and discreetly placed it on the outside of the house facing the forest, thus indicating how many gangsters they were dealing with.

That night, Tom was in the midst of a fitful slumber when he felt an iron grip across his mouth. He opened his eyes to see Elias hovering over him in the dim light, with his finger upon his lips.

"Elias!" he hissed once he had released him. "How did you get in here?"

"Shh! I have some rudimentary weapons, that so far have proved themselves effective." He showed Tom a blowgun. "I have darts dipped in frog poison. I was able to take out the two sentries at the side of the forest, but we have a limited time to get out of here." He passed Tom a machete and his Walther P99 semiautomatic pistol. "Ready?"

"You think I'll be able to hit anything with this?"

"If someone's in front of you, shoot. And if we're to try to make a bit of soldier of ye, Tom, what else should ye be guarding?"

Tom wiped the sleep from his eyes and desperately strived to clamber onto Elias' train of thought. "I should try to watch your back! But I'll have to keep my eyes pointing in two different directions at the same time, and I can't count on my spider senses like I had before."

"What, ye have no ears to your head?" Elias asked.

"Alright, well that I do," he whispered. "Okay, I'll listen for footsteps!"

"Ye may have some rudiments of sense," said Elias, grimly. "Now let's kick some narco arse and get the hell out of here."

Tom and Elias had started to move not a moment too soon. The two guards that Elias had incapacitated had been discovered and the alarm was sounded. Zetas began running around in search of intruders and any escapees. Elias handed Tom his dirk, and then drew a huge Bowie knife which he held in his left hand in case someone ran in under the range of his .44 Magnum. Tom clutched his machete in his right and nervously fingered the Walther P99 in his left. Tom had been in fights before, but this was different, not being to call on his enhanced genetic capabilities in a tight spot. Now all he had was what his human parents had bestowed upon him, and even his regular strength felt like it was fleeting.

Feeling somewhat defective as a fighter in a battle amongst hardened killers, Tom was aware of his fear, as his heart beat like a hammer. He knew that if they should stumble they'd be eaten alive, both literally and existentially. He also felt a dimness that came to his eye that he would repeatedly rub away, and which continually returned. The darkest side of the picture for Tom was that hope had finally fled from him, only thoughts of gloom and fury against all the world that had frustrated his plans and forced him to sell his life for the highest price. He had tried to pray, but his thoughts were moving so rapidly that he could not focus on the words, and only wanted to get this vain attempt at escape over and done with.

All of a sudden, as they rushed through the darkness, they were face to face with a pack of men and with a surge of feet and a roar, the desperate battle began. Elias let out a terrifying bellow as he opened fire at close range with his large handgun. Some men yelled and fell to the ground, as Tom leaped forward to Elias' side, swinging his machete like a maniac.

As his eyes struggled to identify forms and shapes in the murky shadow, Tom came face to face with Pancho and upon recognizing him, powerfully shoved him, putting some meters between them.

"That's the guy that killed Omar!" Tom cried.

"Keep to the wings!" yelled Elias; and as Tom swung around with his machete to guard his back, he glanced over and saw Elias pass his Bowie knife through the hapless Zeta's body.

Tom had turned around none too soon, as he faced a group of five Zetas each with a ' _cuerno de chivo',_ their pet name for an AK-47 assault rifle. Tom fired his little pea-shooter pistol into the crowd and dropping and rolling on the ground, fired many shots into the little group, that while much more heavily armed, had been caught off guard in the dark at close range.

Tom could not be sure of where all his shots were landing, but his first shot had caused one of them to cry out and fall back a step into his companion, giving pause to the rest of them. As more shots rang out of the darkness, blinding and confusing them as to how many assailants they were facing, the remaining got a few shots off that went wide and high, and then elected to find some cover.

Tom also retreated behind an old jeep where Elias was hiding, wiping off the blood that had run up the hilt of his hunting knife, and looking like he had so swelled with triumph that he was to be invincible. Lying nearby was Pancho, on his hands and knees with blood pouring out of his mouth; he was sinking slowly lower, with a pitiful, white face; and then turned to look for assistance and propped himself up against the little house to have cover when the shooting recommenced. But it seemed he died in the very process of seeking shelter.

"How many are left?" demanded Elias.

"I hit a couple, but there are still quite a few of 'em." Tom replied.

"Well I settled at least another two. But they'll be coming to finish us off any minute, sure as shootin'," said Elias. He opened his flak jacket to reveal two glass pop bottles in his belt and holster. They were both filled with a noxious looking substance that was certainly not Pepsi. "Take my lighter," he commanded, pulling out two rags. "Wait until we see movement then we light these Molotov cocktails and hightail it out of here. You know how to hotwire this thing?" he asked Tom, referring to the Jeep.

Tom peaked in the window. "No need," he proclaimed, "The keys are in the ignition." Tom went into the house and noiselessly ushered out Claudeth and Maira, the only two left behind in the _Casita._

Some shots rang out and Tom saw two shadows run across from behind a shed to a large barrel. "Light 'em up!" Elias cried.

Tom lit and tossed his poor man's grenade in a high lob that landed next to the barrel, blowing up with a blinding explosion and shredding two Zetas with glassy shrapnel. Elias caught sight of the rest huddled together and jumped out with a cry throwing his fire bomb into their very midst, killing and maiming the gangsters. He joined Tom and the girls in the Jeep as they sped away, trying to navigate their way through the dark forest.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

The jeep bounced along the bumpy forest road, and Tom and Elias barely exchanged two words until they came upon a highway, and were able to speed along at a good clip, putting a more comfortable distance between them and their captors. As the sun rose in the east, it sent with it's first rays of light a pleasant breeze that cleared the sky of clouds and made the landscape all the more pretty and cheerful.

Elias proceeded to explain to Tom that they had been passing through the state of Guadalajara, which happened to be disputed territory between the two most powerful cartels, the Zetas and the Sinaloa cartel. That was why the Zetas used such brutality to flex its violent muscles in an attempt to cash in on the migrants before they passed deep into Sinaloa territory.

They decided that traveling by car would soon draw the attention of corrupt transit cops looking for a bribe, so they ditched the Jeep and resignedly prepared themselves to ride _la bestia_ , again.

Back on the hateful freight train, Tom, Elias, Claudeth and Maira were all rigid with nervous tension until they passed deeper into the heart of the country controlled by the feared drug cartel in Sinaloa.

The train came to a halt in the rail yards of the city of Culiacán, known as the cradle of the _'narcotráfico.'_

As they scattered from the train to avoid the authorities, Elias laid out the plan. "First thing we need to do is find a Pharmacy for you. We need to get you some meds that will get you fixed up for the next fight. We got lucky back there at the prisoner camp. It's amazing we got out in one piece with you fighting like Betty White." Tom had been thinking that he had held his own and was not pleased with this assessment of his performance in the melee of their escape, but he was in agreement that he needed something to help him feel better.

They located a _farmacia_ that had closed for the night and they were able to break in without too much difficulty. "What are we looking for here, Elias?" Tom asked.

Elias perused the shelves and cupboards. "On the island, we had observed that treatments normally used for Muscular Dystrophy also were beneficial in treating transgenics suffering from decay in the introduced DNA material. Look for Glucocorticoids, such as prednisone. Also maybe look for procainamide and quinine. They shouldn't conflict with the steroid."

"Here's one!" announced Tom. "Found it!"

"And I got the rest," said Elias. "Let's get out of here."

Their hurried closing of drawers and cabinets was interrupted by the sound of a door opening and then closing. _"Hola!"_ was called out, causing Tom and Elias to freeze where they stood.

"Shh!" hissed Tom. "The owners are back. Kill the lights and let's try to sneak out of here!"

Unfortunately, the pharmacist was too quick for them, and he was soon facing his intruders, holding a gun in his shaking hands. _"Leave the drugs that you've stolen. I'm serious! I can use this gun. If you don't give me back my things, I'm going to shoot."_

" _Está bien."_ Tom tried to talk in a calm, cool voice. His attention was captivated by the strange appearance of the chubby, sweaty little man that they now faced. Behind his gun that was ineffectually waving around, was a round face that had streaks of perspiration rolling down and dripping off the moustache, glasses with thick lenses of the coke bottle variety, and two eyes that appeared to suffer from a severe case of strabismus. 'Could he even see straight to be able to shoot us?' thought Tom to himself.

Their brief standoff was interrupted by the appearance of Claudeth in the doorway, who had seen the man open the door and had come to see if the boys had made their escape. At seeing the portly man shaking his gun, she let out a scream, which was a sufficient enough of a distraction for Tom and Elias to brush past the unfortunate pharmacist, knocking him to the ground while they made a speedy escape out the front door and into the night.

The little band of four unfortunate souls was in desperate need of supplies and rest. They managed to find an underlit smoky tienda where they could at least buy bottled water, sunblock, and other items for their journey. There yet remained 950 kilometres until their next stop in the state of Sonora, in the town of Altar, so they were facing what would be a very long and painful leg in their trek to the United States. As Tom tried unsuccessfully to not invite scrutiny from the coarse looking clientele, Claudeth drew especially uninvited attentions from one boorish drunk. Elias came to her defence, when the thug proceeded to draw a knife from his belt, and took a step back while grinning at Elias and Claudeth like a wildcat. Tom, who had had about just enough from these hooligans, ran up from behind, and forgetting everything but his anger, put aside the knife with his left, and dealt a jaw shattering blow with his right. The drunken sot went down to the floor very heavily, his knife clattering upon the tiles as he fell.

Tom and Elias and the girls now turned to look upon the rest of the room's occupants, who rose to face them, cracking their knuckles and reaching for weapons. That old feeling of nausea began to flare up from Tom's innards once again, as he contemplated what appeared to be impossible odds, when one big man stepped forward and waived all the other goons back to their places.

" _Buenas noches señores y señoras. I am Carlos 'Lobo,' and I would like to offer my assistance, as you seem to be in need of a friend. Come to my office and we will sort out your situation."_ As he spoke, his pistol stuck out quite plainly from his pocket, and all could see the lights glint on the steel of the butt.

"I'm pretty sure that we don't have a choice in the matter," observed Tom to Elias.

"At least not until those drugs take effect on you," whispered Elias. "I think our next fight is almost upon us."

The group were rounded up, disarmed, and loaded up into the back of a van that didn't have any windows and was locked from the inside. Tom still hadn't regained his strength and was struggling to stay conscious, and Elias pounded on the door but it would not budge. Claudeth and Maira looked frightened, but after all that they'd already been through, they seem to resign themselves to their fate with remarkable stoicism.

After driving for what seemed like hours, the van stopped and hooded figures opened the door. Elias had to help Tom get out and they were led to a small, dirty cabin in the middle of nowhere. Tom blacked out once Elias helped him find a comfortable place inside the cabin.

Tom came to, listening to the horrible sounds of Elias being beaten. He felt his limbs, thinking that he was starting to find his old strength. He looked up, to see a tall figure leaning up against the wall, in the midst of lighting a cigar. He waved out the match, and calmly blew out a cloud of smoke.

" _Buenas días, gringo. Your friend is not much of a talker. Why don't you tell me where you are from and who would like to see you alive? No doubt you have your loved ones. For your own good, tell me: who would pay for your lives?"_

Tom took a deep breath, and shut his eyes for a moment. _"I have a question for you. What is your name?"_

" _I am Eduardo 'Lobo,'_ " the kidnapper said without reservation.

" _So, Eduardo, explain something for me: how is it that you have no fear that the people will rise against you in retribution for you cruelty?"_

" _That's your question? I am 'The Wolf.' I am the boss and nobody is going to rise against me because they are too afraid, and they have reason to be. Talking with you guys is a waste of time."_ Eduardo walked over to the tormentors and gave some orders that Tom couldn't hear. The men stopped delivering the beating, and looked like they were packing up. Tom looked at the other people cowering in captivity in the dark cabin. There were probably ten people in there including Claudeth and Maira. The kidnappers went over to one young girl who had a bandage on her head, covering her ears, and dragged her out of the cabin.

Tom whispered to a young mother sitting nearby, who was clutching a terrified little boy to herself. _"What will happen to her?"_ he whispered.

The mother whispered back, _"Seems like her family paid the ransom. We hope that she will return to her parents."_

" _Yes, definitely. We hope with all of hearts that we will leave this place together. You too."_

" _For this kind of hope, I do not have the luxury, not even for my son."_

The woman's abject despair filled Tom with utter sadness. He became ever more determined to get them out of there. He tried to stand up, but he became light headed and fell back again. Two of the gangsters came to take the mother and son out. Tom looked up as the little boy waved goodbye, and then they were gone. He looked over to Eduardo, who was on his way out as well.

" _Ándale gringos. This is when I say goodbye to you. Adios."_ And he walked out. After about fifteen minutes, the two gangsters returned and dragged Elias to his feet. Tom made a move to stand, but made eye contact with him. He stopped him with a hard look, and mouthed, "It's okay. Prepare yourself." They roughly put a black bag over his head and hauled him out of the cabin as well.

"I have got to get myself together and get us out of here," Tom said to himself.

As Elias was roughly prodded through what felt like the forest, he concentrated under the hood on focusing his senses. 'Whatever happens, you cannot panic, Elias.' he told himself. 'Calm yourself. Calm.' He talked to himself like he was talking to wild mustang. 'It'll be okay. Just stay calm and pay attention.' When they finally stopped walking, the hood was suddenly pulled off and Elias could see that they had led him to a big hole. Even as his eyes adjusted to the light, he could see that there were bodies already inside. He took a deep breath, but a switch went off inside his head on recognition that there, in the shallow grave, lay the young woman and her son. Unquenchable rage sent blood rushing through his chest and his temples went beet red.

" _Póngate a las rodillas!"_ The man standing closest to him commanded. On your knees.

Elias took a step backward and saw the man casually trying to take his gun out of the holster. The young fools had made the grave error of handcuffing Elias in the front, but it was not a mistake that they would live to repeat. Faster than lightning, Elias clubbed the first man across the face with both hands, and as he was doubled over in pain, he grabbed the man's gun that he had tucked into his pants and then shot him down in the chest.

As Elias whirled around to face the other man, he was still struggling unsuccessfully to pull his gun out of the holster. "I see you stole my Walther P99," observed Elias. "But a gun will get stuck when you force it into a cheap holster that it wasn't designed for." The man looked up as Elias raised his pistol and shot him several times.

Elias looked around. Surely he had drawn attention to himself and trouble was on its way. To his left was a cluster of trees. He started running towards them, and had made it about twenty-five meters when he heard the report of guns firing. He hurtled himself into the woods, as he could feel pieces of bark from the ricochets bounce off of his face, he didn't allow himself to slow down. He zigzagged through the tree cover, trying to work out some sort of a plan.

He circled around, finding a spot behind a huge log, he hid himself and waited, watching the direction of the cabin. After fifteen minutes or so of waiting, two gangsters walked into the trees, pointing their AK-47s. Elias waiting until they were in range of his pistol, and for an opportunity when they were both facing away from him. As they tried not to trip over the rocks and roots, they both glanced away and Elias stood up to throw a stone to the side of them to draw their attention. The stone bounced off a tree and they both turned their rifles. Elias jumped out and started shooting. He killed one immediately but the other one managed to fire a few rounds in Elias' direction before he too received a fatal shot to the neck. Elias was sent back spinning by one lucky shot that winged him in the shoulder. As he felt the blood pouring down his side, he thought to himself, 'When is this going to end?'

 _"That's enough!"_ Yelled one of the guards to Tom, who was on the floor doing push-ups to test his returning strength. Tom paused, his ear detecting the sound of gunfire in the distance, and he silently prayed that Elias was alright. The abrasive noise was not lost on the guards, as they all ran out to see what was happening. Tom decided that this was the perfect opportunity to test his abilities. While the remaining gangster stood in the doorway, Tom leapt to the ceiling and clung there, hanging upside down from the rafters. When the guard turned around and walked back into the cabin, he immediately noticed Tom's conspicuous absence. As he frantically looked from side to side, flummoxed as to where Tom could have gotten to, Tom himself swung along the rafters and wrapped his legs around the unwitting youths neck. Releasing his weight from above, be flipped the guard over, maintaining a chokehold that soon rendered him unconscious.

Tom rushed over to a table where a cell phone was lying next to a SIM card. Assembling the device and flipping it open, he pressed redial.

A very nervous sounding voice answered, _"¿Bueno?"_

 _"Buenas días, señor. I don't know if you happen to be waiting for a call from some kidnappers?"_

 _"Si, si. What happened? We are going to cooperate. So please, don't hurt my daughter."_

 _"Don't worry, señor. I also am kidnapped, but for now, your daughter is safe. What is your daughter's name?"_

 _"Uh, her name is Liliana."_

 _"¿Liliana?"_ Tom looked around the room, to a young girl who raised her head from her knees. Tom waved her over. _"I will pass the phone to Liliana, but first I need a favour."_

 _"Sure. Just say it."_

" _Are you in contact with the authorities?"_

 _"Uh, yes."_

 _"Tell the police to put a trace on this call so that they can find our location."_

" _Si, of course. Now can I speak to my Lilianita?"_

" _Of course you can."_

Tom went out to find Elias, and it turned out that he didn't have to look very far. He found him kneeling beside the grave, staring down at the poor but restful bodies. He looked up to the sky, and his lips quivered as if he was requesting something.

"Elias! Are you okay, man? You look like you've been through the ringer." He turned to look at Tom with a questioning look, and Tom could see that his face was streaked with tears. He gave him a confused expression, like he was mystified as to why Tom was there, and why he was interrupting his sorrow. "Come here. Let's take a look at you," Tom said. "Have you been shot?"

"It's just a through and through."

"But still we should try to stitch you up."

"Would you quit fussing over me!" Elias suddenly shouted. "Can't you see I don't need your help?" They both looked down at the grave and it's seraphic occupants. "Can you believe that I actually prayed?" he asked. "I've never believed much in heaven and I'm not sure that I do now, but I asked the Holy Father that if he is there, to at least receive these ones to Him, and to take better care of them than what they received here."

Tom looked down, and then at Elias, but was at a loss as to what to say. "At all events, they are at peace now," was all he could come up with. Elias reached for the shovel. "Let me stitch you up first."

"I need to bury them! No way in hell will I just leave them like this!"

"Look, Elias. Just give me the shovel. You'll do more good if you sit and pray, and I'll talk care of them, okay? Come on, give me the shovel. Please?" Elias gingerly handed Tom the shovel before weakly squatting in the dirt.

Tom had just finished covering the grave, and both of them were lost in their own thoughts when they were interrupted by the sound of the exchange of gunfire from far off. "Looks like the cavalry has arrived."

Elias squinted into the distance. "Are you sure that these are cops? They're all wearing masks and white shirts that say 'autodefensa.'"

"Autodefensa?' That means that these are the vigilantes."

"Is that good or bad?" asked Elias.

"I feel like I don't what to expect anymore," sighed Tom.

The vigilante who seemed to be the leader jumped out of a pickup truck, and walked up to Tom and Elias, holding his AK-47 down as it hung from the strap around his neck. As they approached him, he pulled off his sunglasses. "You guys Americans?" he asked.

"Yeah," Tom replied, "and you? You sound American."

"I grew up in L.A," he said. "My name's Miguel Gutiérrez, but everyone calls me Rooster. Was it one of you that made the phone call?"

"That was me," said Tom. "So are the regular police coming as well? These people need medical attention and help getting back to their families."

"The cops were contacted, but all they did was tip off 'Los Lobos' that you guys were escaping. They're all paid up with the police here in Culiacán, so there's no point in going to the cops for anything."

"Well if you guys are here to bring the law and order back to Sinaloa, then we appreciate it and we'll gather up our people and we will be on our way."

"Well hold on just a second, guys." Miguel held up his hand. "What are two gringos doing here anyway? And where are you going with other people? Are you running some kind of human trafficking ring?"

Tom chewed the inside of his cheek. "Look, Rooster. We'll be as honest with you as we can. Our reasons for wanting to get across Mexico and into the U.S. without any official involvement are our own. But we've picked up some _compañeros_ here and there. We were captured by the Zetas near Guadalajara, and there we met up with those two girls there." He pointed at Claudeth and Maira. "And I think there's a couple of other young people in that foul cabin that wanted help getting to Altar where we can hire some Coyotes to take us across the border. By the way, there was a girl who had been taken away this morning. Is she alright?"

"She was reunited with her family, yes."

"She had a filthy bandage around her head. What was that?"

"That's the 'Lobos' trademark. They cut off the captives' ear with a scissors and then mail it to the relatives to terrorize them."

Tom shook his head in disgust. "You're right, the 'Lobos' brothers are real monsters. So now if you can just point us in the direction of the railroad, we'd be very much obliged."

"You're lucky your story checks out, amigo, or you'd be enduring some autodefensa justice right now. But tell you what, we'll make you a great deal. You just help us with one little thing, and we'll take you guys to Altar. What d'you say?"

Tom and Elias looked at each other. The truth was they were a very long way off from Altar, and to go with armed escort was extremely tempting. But you don't get something for nothing. "What is this thing that you want help with?" Elias asked.

"Don't worry, amigo. You'll enjoy it, I can tell. We want to take down the 'Lobos' brothers, once and for all. Although they walk around Mexico like cocky bastards, they're very elusive because the dirty cops and politicians protect them. So you guys can help us because you've seen their faces and heard their voices. You've seen how they operate. What d'you say? We take 'em down and you get your free ride to the border."

Elias balled up his hands into fists. "I want to kill those scumbags. You got yourself a deal."

After Rooster walked away, Tom turned to face Elias. "I know we need help getting to Altar, but I'm not sure throwing in with these vigilantes is such a great idea. You know that we can't trust these guys."

Elias focused on cleaning and loading his recently reacquired .44 Magnum. "I don't care. I want to make those devils pay."

"Elias, we're doctors. We help people."

"This _is_ helping people. Imagine how many people we save every time we take out a gangster or cartel soldier."

"That's not saving people. There are always more bosses who corrupt the youth and can make more soldiers, thus damning more people to suffer on the path to hell. We have to really save them. Get people to stand up to corruption, and save the kids from turning to gangs in the first place."

"Now you're talking of the impossible. How do you propose that we save the youth from the gangs?"

"I don't know. It was just a thought. How did you escape from your execution, anyway?"

Elias stared off into the distance. "It all seems like a dream now; a waking nightmare. I remember that somehow I got a hold on the one chap's gun, and I yelled something like: 'Stand and deliver! Or the Devil he may take ya.' Then once I had my pistols, I shot them with both barrels. But at the end of the day there's whiskey in the jar."

"Speaking of which, that's a great idea. Let's see if we can trouble our vigilante cohorts for a drink."

"Let's do, and then I need a nap."


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Tom and Elias bounced around in the back of the pickup truck as they drove back to the city of Culiacán. Miguel 'Rooster' Gútierrez had decided to ride in the back there with them, and Elias yelled the question that had been troubling him, "So how do we begin to take the 'Lobos' down?"

"We were hoping that you could help us with that," was the answer. "Didn't you guys hear or see something that help us to find their safe houses, or where would be their next target?"

Elias shouted back, louder than necessary, "I had a bag put over my head while I had the living shit kicked out of me, so I'm sorry but no, I didn't have the opportunity to ask them about their future plans while we sipped cosmos and got our nails done!" he ranted. "I can't believe you idiots don't even have a plan! We're never going to make it out of here!"

Tom sat quietly for a few minutes, deep in thought. "I didn't hear anything about their safe houses or anything, but I did have the chance to observe Eduardo and his personality. He's a narcissistic sociopath. Although he's gone to such lengths to hide his identity, he wants the limelight. He wants to tell his story."

"Oh, so you're a psychiatrist now? How does that help us?"

"Well, if we don't know where to go to find him, maybe we can bring him to us."

Tom called up his new friend Lydia López to publish an article about the 'Lobos' MO as an attempt to dissect the boss's personality from afar. Tom instructed her to intentionally paint a picture of a weak and greedy individual that likes to deal out abuse on others in a vain attempt to compensate for a loveless existence. They also printed that he always remained in hiding because he was terrified of revenge from his victims and that he made his underlings take all the risks for his operation.

Before long, their little scheme worked and Lydia received a call from a man claiming to be Eduardo 'Lobo', and that he wanted to set the record straight on what kind of man he was, to correct all the 'embarrassing inaccuracies' in the published synopsis of his psyche.

Tom, Elias and Miguel's crew were there with Lydia at a make-shift headquarters in Miguel's grandmother's living room where they had set up their telephone tracing equipment. Lydia had been instructed to stretch out the conversation to allow them to triangulate the call to find his location. Fortunately that wasn't hard, as Eduardo wanted to talk.

She asked him known details about the 'Lobos,' and the caller responded with the correct pertinent responses to prove his identity as the infamous kidnapper.

She asked him why they slash off their victim's ears, and his reply was that they resort to such terror because 'the relatives, have the money, but they don't want to give it to me. I tell them, 'God will punish you and me. You for being so avaricious, for amassing the money and not being willing to give it up to save a relative, and then me for being covetous. I believe I am going to hell."

"Why don't you just turn yourself in? Try to redeem yourself?" Lydia cleverly asked.

"No way! You fools printed that I hide because I'm afraid of death, but I know I'm on a one-way path. If I'm afraid of anything it is jail and poverty, but I do not fear death, you can be sure of that."

After the conversation, the team rushed off to the location that they had gleaned. They found a mansion, which Miguel's men promptly proceeded to surround and cut off any way to escape. They encountered resistance in the form of some guards, but they were easily dispatched by Miguel's men who went in fast and hot, and Eduardo's men were caught by surprise. Tom and Elias trailed in behind, but Elias wanted to get in to try and capture Eduardo personally.

As the invaders searched the house, Tom and Elias went off down a large hallway. Suddenly Carlos 'Lobo' jumped out and shot a few rounds at them. Tom and Elias ducked for cover behind a large desk, but not before Tom got winged in the shin.

Elias whispered, "I'm going out there. Cover me."

Tom hopped up, providing covering fire, while Elias blasted his way forward, but Carlos escaped into a side room. Tom and Elias came after him in pursuit, clearing the house, room to room.

They burst into a sitting room and stumbled across a family, huddled together around an altar to Santa Muerte. The grisly skeleton with its fiendish leer, sardonically adorned as a bride on her wedding day, momentarily distracted Tom.

The son pulled out a shotgun to the screams of his mother and sister, but Tom shot him in the gut. He went down and Elias kicked the shotgun away.

They continued in their pursuit of Carlos until they came to one hallway that went to the left and another that went to the right. Elias whispered, "He's trying to escape, but we can cut him off." He pointed for Tom to go the right.

Tom hobbled along, moving from room to room, and soon he came face to face with a dead-eyed boy who looked to be about eighteen years old, brandishing a Kalashnikov, a black combat vest stuffed with ammunition clips, and a pearl-handled revolver.

"Aw, snap!" shouted Tom, as he rolled to the floor, while round after round of machine gun fire bounced off the wall behind him. 'Great,' he had time to think, 'we split off each going solo, where I have to run into the Rambo junior of the 'Lobo' operation.'

Tom may have been injured, but his enhanced spider abilities had partly come back to him. He flipped around the room with astonishing speed until he was able to kick the assault rifle out of the young guy's hands and fed him some fast and hard punches to the solar plexus. The gangster went down, the wind knocked out of him, and soon found himself disarmed and in a dicey situation.

Tom looked down at the youth, hateful memories coursing through his mind, of all the evil that the cartels and other criminals had wreaked on this place. He wanted to hate this violent young man, to bring poetic justice down on him, to end him. If you live by the gun, then be prepared to die by it.

Tom's nostrils flared as he examined the impassive teen, daring him to make a move, challenging him with his will to fight back, now that he had come face-to-face with death. After all, had he not executed plenty of people when the roles had been reversed?

Tom furrowed his sweat-covered brow, as he struggled against the beast that had been awoken inside his head. Where was this youth's violence? Why didn't he make a sound? A battle cry? A whimper?

A real soldier would have fought back. A hardened gangster would have bared his teeth and expressed his implacable hatred in defiance of a grisly demise. But this boy did nothing. A great, slow doubt spread through Tom's brute mind. Why was he fighting this child? Sure, the child was a killer, but he was also a victim, having been manipulated by adults that were crueller than devils.

Tom stared steadily at the boy. He was aware of the threat this boy posed, knowing more ways to kill a man than Tom could imagine, but with his rising doubts came the redirection of his anger. Again, it was the greedy cartel bosses, the drug dealers, the kidnappers and the corrupt politicians and police officers that were to blame.

As Tom struggled to sort out these thoughts, he kept a firm grip on his pistol, and had the young gang member made a move, he would have died right there. But Tom was not, and did not want to be, a murderer. He waited for another thirty seconds for some sign of menace, to feel some sort of pain inflicted by his enemy. When neither came, he took a step back, and the adrenaline feeding his pumping heart began to slow down.

As Tom exhaled and inhaled with regular deep breaths, his transgenic nature began to fade into the background. He squinted his eyes as he tried to concentrate these thoughts. Yet he saw no reason to fight this child, who made no movement to offer him battle. As neither did he make any attempt to escape, Tom considered striking up conversation.

" _Me llamo Tomás."_

Elias rushed down the hallway, his assault rifle perched on his shoulder as he covered all escape routes for Carlos. As he came around the corner, he found him trying to get out a window. He shot him in the leg, and Carlos went down in pain. "Going somewhere? Now where is Eduardo?" Elias demanded.

"He got away," Carlos panted and laughed. "Someone must have tipped him off you were coming. You see, my friend? We own the information. We own the police! You can't trust anyone."

"You're preaching to the choir, padre." And Elias proceeded to unload his magazine into Carlos. "That was for a beautiful mother and her innocent son." Elias spat on the body as he walked away.

Elias returned to find Tom, holding his hostage at gunpoint. "His name's Raphael," said Tom, "and I think he might have information that can help us."

"You can't trust his intel," quipped Elias. "Ice him and let's get out of here."

"No, he knows of Eduardo's safe houses," insisted Tom. "And even if he didn't, I wouldn't just shoot him."

"And why not?" Elias intensely asked right in Tom's face. "You think this little punk hasn't already murdered lot's of children and innocent folks? You think he would show you any mercy if it was the other way around? No way. He's trash and he should be disposed of."

"Is it lawful to take a life, to save a soul, or to destroy it?" asked Tom. "We have to think of ourselves and our lives after all of this, Elias. Will we be able to live with ourselves once we've returned to a peaceful community?"

"I will sleep like a little baby."

"Well I'm very happy for you, but if there's a chance to save this kid, then I'm going to take it. And I'll take a chance on his information, too."

"Don't you get it, Tom? These people lie. They just lie, all the time. They don't even know how to tell the truth anymore."

Tom turned to Raphael. _"Listen. This life is short and filled with agitation. You need to make some changes or you're going to die. It's that simple."_

" _But the gang is my family. I don't have anything else."_

" _No, listen to me. A family without love is not a family. A family without love is just a business, and it is not worth it to kill yourself over a business, because in the end, the loyalty in a business is to the money, not to you."_

" _Well, do you really believe that someone like me could have a real family?"_

" _Yes, yes, to start. And you have to look for good values to live by, so as to have guidance in your life."_

" _That's_ _true_." Raphael thought quietly for a good few minutes. _"I will tell you the locations of Eduardo's safehouses, where he keeps his money and his other secrets."_

Elias and Tom went back through the house to join up with the others when they entered the room where Eduardo's family had been hiding. There, his son was lying on the couch, bleeding like a stuck pig, while his mother and sisters panicked and screamed.

Upon entering the room, the mother ran up to Tom and attacked them, _"Look! Look at what you have done!"_

" _¡Señora! Señora. It's okay. We are doctors. We will help your son. Calm down. Your son will live."_ Tom ran over to the boy to begin an assessment. "It's okay. It's okay. Just lay back."

Elias held back, watching the scene with a scowling face.

"Elias! I could use a hand here buddy." Still Elias stood, rooted in the same spot in the doorway. "Elias, come on! This is what we do! But I need your help!" The rising panic in Tom's voice got through Elias' brooding facade, and finally he reluctantly walked over to the patient.

Tom was busy trying to apply pressure to the wound in an attempt to slow the bleeding. Elias took charge. He called to Miguel, "This kid needs to get to a hospital. Call an ambulance! Okay, what have we got?"

Tom smiled inwardly, but then focused on his limited training as a corpsman. "He's sustained a GSW to the left flank. Probable injuries to organs are the spleen and small bowel."

"Okay, keep up that pressure! Here, use this tablecloth as a bandage." Elias tore a piece off, and after passing it to Tom, pulled out his pocket First Aid kit. "Here, I have a hemostat here." He tore open a pack of QuickClot and Tom helped him pour the chemical powder into the wound. "Now keep up that strong pressure for at least five minutes."

"Do you have any analgesics in your little fanny pack, there?" Tom tried to keep his spirits up.

Elias pulled out a morphine sulcate and administered it, causing the boy to relax somewhat.

The EMT's arrived and the boy was taken to a hospital, where Miguel's guards, along with Tom and Elias accompanied. Tom explained what they had done so far, and his observations of probable spleen damage. At surgical exploration, they found that he had a through-and-through laceration of the spleen, and the surgeon arrested the bleeding by finger compression of the splenic hilum while it was being mobilized. A splenectomy was eventually performed because the bullet went through the hilum.

The boy survived.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Tom and Elias returned to Eduardo's house to assist Miguel and his men in their search for clues. To everyone's frustration, Eduardo was continuing to stay one step ahead of them by means of his connections to corrupt police officers who had been bribed to protect him.

Yet upon their arrival, Miguel seemed to be in a positive mood. "How goes it, Rooster?" asked Elias.

"Not bad, _tío._ We've found more than five million in ransom money, along with a surgical knife. Might be useful."

"Yeah, but have you found anything that will help us find him?" asked Tom.

Miguel was shaking his head as a 'no,' when the house phone rang. Miguel picked it up. "¿ _Bueno_?"

"How is my family?" asked the agitated voice on the other end.

"Man, who is this I am talking to? Could this be the great Eduardo 'Lobo?'"

"You know who this is. Tell me about my family!"

"They're fine. They're in our custody. Why don't you come see for yourself?"

Tom stepped closer to Rooster and tried to whisper suggestions as to what to say. "Tell him …" Miguel waved Tom back, but he insisted. "Tell him: we missed him here at the party…"

"Tell you what, _viejo_ ," Miguel said, "I'm going to pass the phone to my friend here."

Tom took the phone. "Eduardo. Yeah we missed you here at our little party. I guess we scared you off by our superior organization. We tend to have an intimidating effect on people."

"You think I'm scared of you, gringo?"

"Yes. Prove to me that you're not. Come and talk to us right now."

Tom listened to the passing moments of silence, followed by infuriated laughter. "You think you're pretty smart, eh? Why don't you show me that you're as smart as you think. Accept my deal; I'll give you ten million dollars if you release my family."

"You see, I don't think you're getting it, Eduardo. We're all trying to make a name for ourselves, and making a deal like that with you won't win me any respect. No, we want a face-to-face. So if you want your family back, then quit being a _pollito_ and come and get them yourself."

"You're going to regret this, you stupid Americans! I am going to kill all of you!" Eduardo screamed, loud enough that Elias and Miguel could hear.

"Yeah, whatever," interjected Elias into the conversation. He spoke up into the receiver. "Tell Eduardo, that candy-ass from jerkwater, that this is the deal: He can turn himself in, or we are going to kill his family. That's it, take it or leave it."

Tom raised his eyebrows, and sighed. This negotiation was getting out of control. It's true that he was trying to provoke the ire of Eduardo, but threatening to kill the man's family was over the line, even for him. Not withstanding, it certainly had the desired effect.

Eduardo was really starting to lose it, although the angrier he got, the more controlled his voice became. "I know that you bastards shot my son. You shouldn't have done that."

"Well that can happen when their father's a coward and he abandons his children to suffer for his sins."

"No. You listen to me, you little turd. You are the cowards. Shooting my son was a cowardly act and you will hear from me very soon." *Click*

"Well he hung up," said Tom to the others.

"What was that about?" asked Miguel.

"I was trying to make him angry."

"Well I think it worked."

"The idea is, if we can goad him into a rage, then hopefully he'll make a mistake and we'll be there to catch him. Now we should call up Lydia."

"The lady journalist? Why do you want to talk to her for?"

"Hey. Nobody knows the cartels, the gangs, or how this country functions politically better than her. Plus, we need her to do us a favour."

"What's that?"

Tom held up a document that he had taken from Eduardo's bedroom that had his photo, along with the name Eduardo Norori. "We release his true identity to the press, and Lydia can use her influence to make sure that all the media outlets in Mexico publish his face. Just when he thought his business was getting trickier, we'll make it impossible for him to cut a fart without us hearing about it."

Tom laid out their plan to Lydia, and was waiting on her opinion.

" _So based on the information that you got out of the gangsters from the house, we know of seven of his safe houses, and you have to be able hit them all at the same time."_

" _Yes Lydia, that is correct. What do you think?"_

" _For this to work, you are going to need more help. You should call the policía federal, la policía Judicial del Estado de México y del Distrito Federal. Also, it would be good to involve the Centro de Investigación and CISEN to assist with the detention of Eduardo."_

" _Whoa,"_ cut in Miguel. _"Let's just wait a moment. How will it be possible for all these agents from the different institutions to work together, let alone work with us."_

Lydia tossed her pen on the desk where she was sitting. _"Mire. You asked how you could invade all of 'Los Lobos' bases at the same time, and this is the answer. The authorities are under a huge amount of pressure to capture this band of kidnappers, and especially the head: Eduardo. Even Presidente Peña Nieto caved into the pressure and gave a direct command that 'Eduardo must be captured by any means necessary.' So, the authorities are going to work together, even if that means allowing the participation of the grupos auto-defensas."_

Miguel looked to Tom. _"And thinking of the situation, how do you feel about having a bunch of government agents right amongst us?"_

Tom paused a moment to think. Glancing at Elias he replied, _"If the police are half as bad with communicating amongst themselves as you've said, then I'm sure we'll be able to come up with a plan when it is necessary."_


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Eduardo 'Lobo' Norori checked his watch. All his men were in position. The target was on his way. The plan was complicated, but one that Eduardo and his gang had done a thousand times before, and to great lucrative success. Today, on the docket was the kidnapping of the son of a richer than rich executive from Queretaro. 'Another day, another dollar,' thought Eduardo. He sighed, trying to find comfort in the banality of an activity that he had done countless times over the last twenty years, and had honed to a science. 'Another day, another cash cow to be coerced into donating her milk.'

But the truth was, it was not a day like any other, much as he tried to convince himself otherwise. He felt hemmed in, pressed down and claustrophobic. He cracked his knuckles to try to calm his frayed nerves. More than anything, he was annoyed by the ventless undercurrent of rage he could feel seething up and down his spine.

Eduardo popped open a bottle of Tylenol and gulped it down with some Alka-Seltzer. If he could just this job done, he would feel better. He was sure of it.

His radio crackled, signalling that his target's motorcade had been spotted and was on it's way to the ambush site. Eduardo gave the signal to commence the attack. He had twelve men involved in the ambush, along with three vehicles.

Mr. Pepe Alberto Amores sat in the backseat of his reinforced car as it drove along between two security vehicles. As they proceeded through an intersection, a big truck came sailing though at top speed, ramming the rear vehicle and ploughing it off the road. Before the occupants of the executive's car had the opportunity to realize what was happening, another truck slammed into the security car ahead of him, bringing it to a dead stop. The driver of Mr. Amores' car swerved around the collision to avoid an accident, only to slam on the brakes as a third truck was blocking the way. The driver looked to the rear to see if he could reverse out of the kill zone, but men leaped out of the truck armed with assault rifles and peppered the car with bullets, taking out the tires, the engine, and shooting the driver. Amores' body guard and another hired security agent jumped out of their vehicles in an attempt to offer some resistance, but were quickly cut down by superior firepower.

The kidnappers pulled the terrified Mr. Amores out of his vehicle, tied him up and threw a bag over his head as they drove him to a safe house.

Once they arrived, they duct taped the poor Pepe Alberto Amores to a metal chair after stripping him of most of his clothes. He sat like that for hours, as Eduardo made his demands to the family and negotiated his terms.

Finally, the bag was pulled off his head, and Amores could make out few details of a dimly lit and squalid room. He knew there was one man behind him, and Eduardo briskly entered, giving Amores a dispassionate look. _"It is time for your therapy,"_ he said pragmatically. He flaunted a pair of scissors, sending shockwaves of horror pulsing through Amores' body. _"It is nothing personal, señor, nor is it to make you suffer. It is purely to put pressure on your family. It is simply business. And you understand business, don't you Pepito,"_ he said, as he wielded the scissors toward his head.

Rooster was busy in a conference room at the local Federal Police HQ, coordinating the various teams assigned to hit all of Eduardo's safe houses at the same time. _"Alright, we have seven targets, and seven different tactical teams; one for each safe house. ¡Vámonos!"_

All the different police officers and agents rushed to their assigned squads. One of the _policía Judicial del Estado de México_ stopped Tom to ask him if he was on loan from the FBI.

Tom told him that it was definitely something like that, but the details were so classified that even he didn't know all the particulars. But as a measure of good faith between agencies, he said he was working with the _policía Judicial Federal._ The agent seemed highly pleased by this exchange, and rushed off to his assignment. Elias looked at Tom with a wearied expression, as they too went to find their places with Rooster's men. Elias went to the gun locker and was arming himself when a suspicious officer of the national security agency CISEN asked what on earth an American was doing mixed up in this operation.

"It's a long story," said Elias, "but I'm on a special cross task force _interinstitucional_ assignment, working with the _Judicial del Estado de México."_ The officer stared at him for an uncomfortably long time, but then suddenly slapped him on the back and laughed. "Better you than me, amigo! Ha!"

Elias grinned back, as they all rushed to their units and prepared to converge on Eduardo's last remaining strongholds.

Eduardo stood in front of Pepe Alberto Amores and methodically cleaned off his scissors, as he gave orders to one of his henchmen. _"I am going to go,"_ he said, _"Give me fifteen minutes to leave, and then shoot this pig."_

The younger gangster nodded in understanding.

Amores was shaken out of his skin. _"But you've already demanded fifteen million dollars from my family. You don't have to kill me. They're going to pay!"_

" _Yes. I know,_ " Eduardo said calmly. _"But I'm going to explain something to you."_ He stopped what he was doing and looked Mr. Amores straight in the face. _"They'll pay me either way, so it doesn't matter to me if you live or not. And right now it seems to me that it is better that you die. Again, It's nothing personal. ¡Adios, chancho!"_

Eduardo walked out of the safe house and stepped into his Volkswagen. He had not yet started the engine and was in the midst of lighting a cigar, when he was surrounded by armed federal agents and vehicles, all directing heavy weapons at him. He surrendered without a fight.

The police and federal agents were able to enter the safe house and release Mr. Pepe Alberto Amores, before the kill order could be carried out.

As the agents regrouped at the end of the day, they were starting to undertake their mountain of paperwork that was required to register all the evidence they had gathered from the raid, and process all the arrests, when the Judicial agent ran into the CISEN agent. _"How is it going, working with the Americans?"_ asked the CISEN agent.

" _I'm not working with the Americans. He told me that he was helping the federales,"_ explained the other.

" _But he told me that he was working with you."_

" _That is weird."_

" _Yes. It is very strange."_

The one agent shrugged. " _Well, that's fine. Leaves more credit to us."_

" _Claro_. _Eso si,"_ the other agreed.

Tom and Elias and their little band of cohorts were safely in the back of a pickup truck with Rooster, well on their way to the town of Altar. Tom looked around at his companions. Elias was fast asleep, and looked very peaceful. Claudeth and Maira had been through many stressful situations but even they seemed like they were permitting themselves time to catch up on some repose.

They had gained two new friends from the 'Lobos' brothers' cabin.

Daniel was a sixteen-year-old boy from the Mexican west coast town of Nayarit, and was hoping to find a job in construction in the U.S, if he ever made it there.

Siomara was a young woman from Guatemala who had been making the perilous journey through Mexico for weeks now, and had seen more than her fair share of traffickers, smugglers, kidnappers and abusers.

She was trying to escape her own family and a life of indignity, and had been on her own since she was fourteen years old.

'We're so close now, I hope we can make it,' thought Tom. _'Ojalá.'_


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

The miles drifted one into another, as Tom sat back to enjoy their road trip through the Mexican states of Sinaloa and Sonora. They enjoyed many wonderful vistas as they drove through incredibly pretty country, the highway hugging the Pacific coast and the Gulf of California like a long winding serpent.

Tom lamented to himself over his growing discontent that first with Australia and now again, he found himself travelling through a fascinating land that he had always wanted to explore and enjoy. But once he had made it there, he had only got to experience the gruesome underbelly.

"I'll be back, Mexico," he thought. "I promise you that."

The pickup truck started to slow down, as Miguel 'Rooster' Gutiérrez looked for a place to turn off. At first, Tom thought they were stopping for fuel but there were no gas stations in sight.

"This as far as I can take you," announced Miguel. Tom and Elias looked around. They were in the middle of nowhere.

"I thought you said you'd take us to Altar." Tom tried to control his annoyed tone.

Elias didn't worry about offending him. "I can't believe that you'd just abandon us in the middle of this god forsaken desert! We had a deal!"

"Relax, man. Rooster will take care you. I just mean that this as far as I personally can take you. You see that little building up there." They followed where Miguel's finger was pointing into the distance. "That's a Sinaloa cartel checkpoint. The cartel controls that town, and I ain't exactly on friendly terms with those assholes. They'd kill all of us."

"So you've arranged a ride for us?" asked Tom hopefully.

" _Si hombre._ There's a _sacerdote_ that I called to come pick you guys up. Don't worry, he's the best guy to take you the rest of the way. So I'm not abandoning you, but it would be best for all of us if I got out of here right now. I don't want to draw no attention from the _carteles_."

Tom and Elias and their group of migrant friends stumbled out of the truck and waved goodbye.

"Good luck," called Miguel, as he drove away.

"So did he say a priest was coming to get us?" asked Elias. Tom shrugged.

They waited for a little while, when they saw a Toyota Hilux pickup driving towards them from Altar. The truck rolled to a stop in front of them, and the chubby driver rolled down the window to look at the raggedy group.

"He doesn't look like a priest," whispered Elias. Indeed he did not. He was dressed like a rancher, wearing jeans, cowboy boots and a big white Stetson hat.

"Padre?" asked Elias.

"That's right, I'm Padre Presciliano Pacheco. Are you fellas…" he looked down at some handwritten scrawl in a grimy notebook, "Are you: two Americans and a bunch of Latinas?" He slid down his sunglasses, giving them a quick scan.

Tom and Elias looked at each other sceptically.

"Thanks for coming to get us," said Tom, once they were on the road.

"It's my duty to the Lord and my genuine pleasure," the priest said cheerfully. "Altar is my parish, and is a major crossroads for the migrants. We can't just stand by with our arms folded in the face of such suffering."

"So a lot of people come through here?" asked Elias.

"Thousands," Pacheco explained. "And they need more protection. More rights. Once I took my own undocumented flock across myself. It's incredibly dangerous, that crossing, and it's because neither government wants to help. They just make it more difficult and thus hand more power into the greedy hands of the wicked."

They drove past another shady checkpoint. Like all the others, it was manned by roughnecks wielding big guns. The priest explained that they were cartel members, or people traffickers, and sometimes a hybrid of the two. Fortunately, the padre's fame in those parts meant that they were waved through without question.

"We should be very thankful for the migrants, we should protect them," Pacheco pontificated, stabbing a finger in the air. "We should embrace and celebrate them because ninety percent of our economy depends on what our migrant brothers spend here."

They could see what he was referring to. The town was full of shops and hawkers, selling everything the prospective border-crosser could need. He pulled into a store where they bought water in black bottles, so as not to reflect the sun and tip off the border patrol guards when they looked through their binoculars. They bought long-sleeved hooded shirts and trousers, the clothing and rucksacks all in camouflage to try to fool the border patrols. They also purchased thin blankets and meagre supplies of tinned food.

The other customers in the store didn't seem different than other rural workers in Mexico, but there was an air of weary melancholy that hung over them like a cloud. The women were dressed like the men, all in caps and jeans, and beaten-looking shoes.

"It's still a another hour journey along dirt roads to the border, and it's all controlled by the Sinaloa cartel. Did you need help finding a Coyote?"

"We have a name, but we could certainly use your help getting us there." Tom handed him the information of the Lebanese tunnel operators that he had got from Lydia.

The padre read carefully the names and then glanced back at Tom over his sunglasses. "You're sure that these are the people that you want to deal with? This is a rough crowd and once I leave you with them, you're on your own. I have no influence after that."

"We can be a rough crowd too," Elias piped up, gravely.

They loaded up the truck, as Pacheco stepped aside to say a prayer with a group of dirty, exhausted, traumatized looking migrants. _"Jesús, take pity on them and protect them, as they are mistreated and humiliated on their path."_

They got back on the road out of town, where they drove past some of the same men and women from the store, now dressed head-to-toe in camouflage wear. The weary souls were busy cramming themselves into one of the dozens of mini-vans that were lined up, waiting to take the migrants from Altar to the border.

"They'll have to wait for a Coyote to help them cross the desert. You can see Jesus Christ walking among us. 'I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink.' Are you a believer?" he suddenly asked Tom, who looked to Elias.

Tom nodded. Then Elias said, "I believe that a thorough knowledge of the Bible is worth more than a college education."

Pacheco seemed to like that expression. "Good man! What inspiring thought can you share with us?"

"I uh…" Elias hesitated, looking back at Tom who was waiting in expectation with a smirk on his face. "Well it's just like you said, Jesus walks with these folks and I know Jesus walks with me. So I ask for God to show me the way because the Devil's trying to break me down. The only thing is that I pray that my feet don't fail me now. And I don't think there is nothing I can do now to right my wrongs. I want to talk to God but I'm afraid because we ain't spoke in so long. Know what I mean?" Elias looked at the priest, whose face was deadpan. Elias cleared his throat. "But Jesus walks with me."

Pacheco look intently at Elias. "That's deep, _hombre_." Tom looked out the window and tried to stifle a snicker.

At the edges of twilight, they drove past a cemetery, where a solitary figure kneeled next to a shallow grave. She looked to be a young girl about fourteen, whose large eyes welled with tears expressing the fear in her grief. Her dress drooped down from her shoulder, as she looked around at the approaching truck without really seeing them. She truly was isolated from unreachable hope, and unapproachable help.

"Stop the truck!" said Tom suddenly.

"What?" asked Pacheco.

"We have to see if that girl needs help."


	35. The Orphan Girl in the Cemetery

Chapter 35

The orphan girl in the cemetery

Run away, o human child

To the deserts and the wild

May the Angels guide your hand

For the world's more full of weeping

Than you should ever understand

\- paraphrased poem by W.B. Yeats

The sun began to set, and the dusky dim light in the desert town made figures difficult to see in the enveloping dark, yet glorious colours refracted off of the dust particles in the air, creating a backdrop of orange, pink, and purple hues that could almost make one forget one's sorrow.

The bright and wondrous palette, painted and spread across the horizon as if by a brilliant artists palette knife, also reflected off the infinite grain of sand of the American desert, and to the little orphan, seemed to beacon a ray of hope into her otherwise be darkened little heart.

The world is big and wide, and nowhere else is this evident then when you're standing on the fringe of a vast and open desert plain. It draws on your courage just to contemplate an existence on the other side, yet the little orphan cast her eyes up to heaven, and upon getting to her feet, set her indomitable little will upon crossing the world fraught with wickedness and evil dangers, while daring herself to dream.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

Padre Presciliano Pacheco talked softly to the young girl at the graveside, showing by his body language and tone of voice that he posed no threat. Tom and Elias watched from afar, doing their best not to look intimidating.

Elias looked around at the setting sun, and whistled at how beautiful the countryside was that they were seeing. "Nothing is more lonely and more beautiful than the view at nightfall across the prairie when the lengthening shadows have at last merged into one and the faint after-glow of the red sunset fills the west."

Tom nodded. "I've always especially loved the prairie, and appreciated a sunset on the plains. Who said that?" referring to his quote.

"That was the great American naturalist, Teddy Roosevelt." Tom snorted at this, thinking of TR's reputation as a big game hunter, but Elias was engrossed in the moment, and paid no heed. "'There can be no greater issue than that of conservation in this country,' he said."

"Well he had a way with words in describing the American wild, that's for sure."

"It is an incalculable pleasure to know, even slightly and imperfectly, how to read and enjoy the wonder book of nature."

Tom took a moment to scan the shadowy horizon, trying to soak in the wild beauty of their surroundings. "Is that what you aspired to be?" he asked Elias. "Some sort of fighting naturalist?"

Elias kept looking to the sky, the first star just starting to twinkle. "No man leads a hardier or more adventurous life than that of the collecting naturalist whose quest takes him to the uttermost parts of the earth. If he has eyes to see he will have many a tale to tell of true stories of adventure in strange lands.' I don't know if that's what I aspired to do, or if it just turned out that way." He started unscrewing the lid to his flask.

"Well you certainly have some weird tales to tell, that's for sure."

They looked over to see the padre and the orphan girl walking side-by-side back to the truck.

"Well your instincts were right," Pacheco said to Tom. "Her name's Rebecca, she's lost everyone she had in this world, save one aunt who lives in the United States, _pobrecita_. So when I told her your offer to help her find her way across the border, she accepted. Just make sure that she gets through safely, you hear me? Poor thing has been through enough. She could qualify for refugee status on the other side, if she gets the opportunity to tell her story."

So their little band of migrants and downtrodden creatures had grown by one.

It was dark once they arrived in the border town of Nogales and pulled up to the clubhouse where Tom was supposed to meet the gang who ran people through the tunnels under the border. The priest dropped them off after giving them his blessing, and then drove off into the night. Tom knocked on the big steel door, and armed guards opened and ushered them in.

They soon found themselves face-to-face with a gang of heavily armed goons and a moustached man behind a table, contentedly smoking a cigar in a padded office chair. Tom sighed. This was getting to be old hat.

" _What do you want, Americans?"_ he demanded.

" _We want to cross la línea through the tunnels."_

"And who are jew?" the boss asked in english. "How do I know you're not a rotten cop?"

"We got your contact information because we really just want to get across the border. Look at us," Tom waved in the direction of Claudeth, Maira, Daniel, Siomara and Rebecca. "Do we look like cops?"

"Well, if you're not cops, then you won't mind if we search you."

"We're not giving up our weapons," said Elias, firmly.

"Disarm them!" the boss commanded, as four goons converged on Tom and Elias.

They both sprang into action. Tom adopted the Shaolin Kung Fu Horse stance, blocking one goon in his tracks and then employed Praying Mantis Fist on another, delivering a devastating blow that sent the goon flying backwards across the room.

Elias had his .44 Magnum and Walther P99 out, quick as a flash, and pointed his guns in the other two goons faces. Tom leaped up from the Shaolin Forward stance to cartwheel over the table and pin the boss's head with his fist, while his other hand wielded a dirk.

"Nice moves," Elias said in an aside to Tom.

"Thanks. The kidnappers in Sinaloa liked to watch Kung Fu movies."

An uncomfortable silence hung over the room, as a few moments ticked by giving the boss time to recover from his shock, he started to chuckle in rumbling peals of laughter.

"Ha, ha! _Tranquilo,_ my friend. Let's calm ourselves and talk this over as men." Tom released his hold and allowed the boss to stand up. He smiled broadly at them as he brushed himself off and straightened his jacket. "I think we can do business together. How many of you are there?" The other goons lowered their weapons and relaxed.

"Seven in all. But we'll pay for everyone."

"That'll cost you $3,000 a piece, amigo."

Tom threw an envelope on the table. "Here's twenty grand. Do we have a deal?"

The boss waved his finger at him. "You see? I knew that I liked you. Let's have a drink, and we'll talk about if you deserve that discount or not."

As they arrived at the hidden entrance to the tunnel, Tom was so excited to at being at the threshold of entering the U.S. that he was almost giddy. Not that he didn't like Mexico, but being there illegally was substantially worse than being illegal in the U.S. And he was just entering the country illegally. Once he was there, everything would go back to normal. Or at least that is what he was hoping.

As they entered the inky black tunnel, they were deafened by the eerie silence that was barely broken by the scurrying of rats. Their coyote led the way, with a group of five joining their seven, Tom felt like they had become a real caravan, venturing through the subsurface passageway.

Suddenly they stumbled into a section that was flooded with sludgy water. Someone tripped and yelled as they splashed around, prompting threatening commands for silence.

" _Everyone hold hands so that nobody falls,"_ the coyote ordered, and all linked hands obediently. By now the water was up to their knees.

" _But it smells like dead animals,"_ complained Claudeth, as they sloshed along.

" _And dead people,"_ Rebecca added.

They walked for what seemed like miles, and gradually the tunnel got narrower. One of the coyotes lit up his flashlight, and shone it around like he was looking for something. Finally, he focused on the craggy walls. _"¡Aquí! Mire."_ He lit up a crudely drawn yellow line that was spread across the ceiling and down the wall that indicated the division between Mexico and the United States.

The band of illegal migrants, now hiding from border patrols of a different nation, continued their way further through the subterranean world holding hands until they reached a dry point. There the coyotes offered each of them a change of clothes to help them blend in with their new surroundings in the U.S.

Tom felt the coarse fabric of the shirt he was handed. "Not bad for $3,000 bucks," he remarked to Elias. They eventually made their way to a side tunnel that led to a manhole cover on the surface. The coyotes shooed the _pollos_ , as they called them, out of the tunnel to exit to the darkness outside.

Tom sensed a border patrol nearby and hushed everyone to keep quiet, and as the spotlight came into view, he ushered the group to move ahead and stay out of the stalking beam of light.

The shadows can play tricks on your mind after hours of shining your spotlight through the bitter gloom of the Arizona desert. For border patrol agent Gus Sykes, it was a cat and mouse game against the triple threat of drug smuggling, illegal aliens and violent gangs, with all the concomitant brutality that is integral when you're fighting a war.

Gus's radio croaked to life, "Looks like we have movement at P2."

"I hear you. I'm on my way." The wheels on Gus's jeep spun in the sand until they found traction and he drove off, to assist where a group of migrants had been spotted lurking in the thick gloom.

He pulled up to his number two, Robert, who was standing with a group of men with their guns drawn. "You think you've spotted a batch of illegals?"

"We did, we've just momentarily lost them, that's all."

Gus took a drag from his cigarette, "Seeing all of you with your guns out, I thought that your hair must really be on fire, but maybe you just lost your wits, yeah?"

Robert frowned at this dig, and kept his spotlight scouring the shadowy dunes. "I saw one just for a moment, but they must be wearing their carpet slippers because there ain't no tracks in the sand." Robert rolled his cigarette that was hanging out of his mouth, as he tipped back his cowboy hat. His eyes strained with the will of the hunter through the encompassing murk. "There! I see one! And there's another one!" His gun was raised.

"Well you got a quick hand there, Rob," said Gus with satisfaction. They looked along the beam of light to see the little group running, about twenty meters ahead. "I felt them throw a rock, the varmints! Shoot first, boys!" Gus smoothly drew his rifle that had a quick-pull trigger.

Robert looked through the scope of his rifle as he put Claudeth in the crosshairs. "All you kids with the pumped up kicks, you'd better run, better run, outrun my gun.

"Run, run, faster than my bullet." His finger tightened around the trigger.

Gus heard something to his right that sounded like a groan, as one of the spotlights went out.

"We need light here! What're you doing?" shouted Gus. A shadowy figure flew past his head, causing him to instinctively duck. Something soft hit Robert in the face just as he fired, causing him to miss his target.

"What the-?" he held up a camouflaged backpack. As he put it down to shine his light on Gus, a fist came out of the darkness that smashed his face like an iron bar. His light lit up the terrifying sight of a face masked as a Mexican wrestler. With terrifying speed, the figure from the nightmarish darkness put his arm in a hold, and then delivered a crushing blow to the base of his skull, knocking him unconscious. The masked man then faced Gus, who foolishly tried to draw his pistol. Fast as Gus was, Tom was faster, who disarmed him and struck him in the jaw, knocking him out in the blink of an eye.

Seeing that the lights were no longer following them, Elias led their little band of migrants back towards the trucks while Tom finished dealing with the team of border patrol officers. Elias packed them into Gus's jeep and they sped off, as Tom stayed back to cover their escape. "Sorry," he said to the last man remaining, as he punched him in the back of the head.

The guests at the exclusive formal foundation dinner mingled in polite conversation, as veiled power plays and cloaked alliances and threats were exchanged amongst the veneered elite and powerful. Harold Osborne took a pause from a conversation with an oil magnate and an executive for one of the biggest arms manufacturers in the U.K. to send a text message to Vitaly. Harold was struggling to disguise his anxiety for the operation that his number two was currently tasked with bringing to a conclusion: the capture or otherwise neutralization of Tom Jones and Elias Wirtham.

Markus Vitaly texted back: "Situation under control. Am here at Mexican border. No signs yet, but have heard of an altercation with Border Patrol. Going to investigate."

Harold texted back to be sure to be kept updated, and then started texting one of his other lieutenants. "Send in the asset," was the ambiguous message.

Elias drove over the sand dunes as fast as he dared in the little jeep he had stolen from the Border Patrol. They approached a craggy, mountain range that seemed to rise right out of the sand. As they entered the pass between the rocky cliffs, Elias put all his senses on high alert. They were in a vulnerable position, with almost no space to manoeuvre.

As he negotiated the jeep through the rocky pass, he felt a wave of relief as he saw blue sky as they approached the way out. But that relief turned to panic as he had to slam on the brakes. A big pickup blocked the exit, and three ranchers with rifles took aim at their vehicle.

"Get down!" screamed Elias, getting everyone to duck as he threw the jeep into reverse. Shattering glass, the sounds of gunshots and bullets ricocheting off the steel of the jeep were almost drowned out by the screams of terror of its occupants. Elias attempted to negotiate the mountain pass in reverse, while keeping his head down, but backed into a rock wall, bringing the jeep to a halt. They were sitting ducks, so Elias took out a handkerchief and waved it out the window in surrender. Two of the ranchers came forward, guns vigilantly pointed at Elias, as they dragged the ragtag group of migrants out of the vehicle.

"And who are you?" called the fat rancher from behind the pickup. "Some sort of a coyote?"

Elias kept his hands up as he was lined up with Claudeth, Maira, Daniel, and Siomara while they were padded down and disarmed. "Not really," Elias replied. "Just a fellow American out for a drive with some friends."

As they were saying this, one of the ranchers got a little rough with Siomara, and when Maira stepped forward to protest, the rancher backhanded her across the face. Both Daniel and Elias advanced to intervene in this brutish assault, yet were restrained by the ranchers, one who clubbed Elias to the ground, while the other, the same one who handed down maltreatment to the girls, was waiting for Daniel. He easily overpowered him, and began punching and beating him with excessive force. The girls cried out in distress at seeing this cruelty, but all of this action served it's purpose: to distract the ranchers from checking that everyone had in fact gotten out of the jeep.

Rebecca, putting the jeep into gear, and while never having driven before but had observed intently bus drivers a thousand times, hit the gas and drove the jeep with reckless abandon into the pickup, totalling the jeep and knocking the front end of the bigger truck sliding sideways two meters. As the fat rancher boss was hiding on the other side of the pickup, he was hit with a massive wallop, struck by his own truck and sent reeling backwards.

Elias capitalized off of this surprising development, relieving his tormentor of his weapon and rifle butting him with one movement. He cocked the rifle and, pointing it swiftly at the other, he proceeded to shoot the cowboy hat off of his head, freezing the rancher in his tracks.

"If it makes you feel any better, partner, I was aiming for your kneecap," smirked Elias to the rancher, who looked like he needed a clean pair of shorts.

They tied up the two younger ranchers with restraints that they found in the Border Patrol jeep, and then went to check on the fat boss, who was just recovering from his little bump and getting back to his feet, when Elias rifle butted him in the gut, and then knocked him out with a blow to the head.

After congratulating each other on their success, with special thanks going to little Rebecca, the ragtag and bobtail crew was shooed into the rancher's pickup, as Elias gunned the engine, leaving them in a cloud of dust.

Tom drove the jeep that he had relieved from the border patrol along a dusty dirt road that wound it's way amongst the brush of the great Sonoran desert in Arizona. He was surrounded by tall cacti, with majestic buttes and mesas adorning the skyline, more impressive than any grand temples or architecture contrived by humans. It formed a dry, harsh landscape, but one with distinctive beauty and grandeur, that demanded one to respect it's power and abide by it's rules if one was to survive there.

Tom was a little distracted by the scenery, when he came around a bend in the road and a rise of earth, brush and rocks to find a checkpoint of some pylons and a menacing group of four men with guns. The brush and rocks were so rough and were raised to both sides of the road, that there was no possibility of turning off and avoiding coming to a stop, which Tom dutifully did and tried to act normal.

"Anything I can do for you boys?" Tom asked, doing his best to sound as American as possible.

The four were all dressed differently and of varying shapes and sizes. The one in the lead was a muscular, redheaded man, wearing a black hoodie and baseball cap. He had an arrogant and flushed face, and had many tattoos creeping up the side of his neck and wrists, endeavouring to see the light of day out from under his sweater. The second was dressed as you would expect of a hunter; in camouflage from head to toe, with the exception of an assault rifle hanging from around his neck, indicating that his prey of choice was humankind. He was a large, fatter man; white with a bushy beard around his neck. The third was a woman, shorter, chubby and blonde; with a camo-coloured cap and a white T-shirt that read 'M.A.D. - Minutemen American Defense." The fourth was a chubby man with a shaved head, and Tom swore he could see a Nazi armband poking out from under his shirtsleeve. Tom could see their vehicle parked a short distance away, a large Chevy Suburban decorated with patriotic symbols, as well as a sticker that read, 'Liberals Suck,' and 'No Trespassing' written in English and translated in Arabic, Chinese, and Spanish.

The lead man spat some tobackie onto the ground. "You ain't no Border Patrol," he growled, raising his rifle at Tom. "Get out of that jeep, right now, and keep your hands where I can see 'em, or it'll be the last thing you'll ever do."

"Okay," Tom complied, slowly stepping out of the jeep, over a bush of stinging nettles and onto the road. "You folks mind telling me what this is about."

"We got word that some Border Patrol agents had been jumped by a dirty band of criminal foreign nationals, and then we find you driving one of the stolen jeeps. How do you pretend to explain that?"

"Oh, I've got my reasons," Tom's muscles tensed. "And may I ask, just what the hell are you guys supposed to be?"

"Why we're the Minutemen Civil Defense Corps, protecting the U.S. border ever since our Muslim president decided it would be fine to allow all kinds of illegals and undesirables cross our frontier that is now more dangerous than the frontier of Afghanistan. But that is not America. In my U.S. of A, we have the right to bear arms and defend ourselves, and that is precisely what we are doing." He looked keenly at Tom as he spoke, and then turned to the big bearded man. "Jep," said he, "don't you find it awfully suspicious, a young white man, out here driving through the brush alone, in a stolen federal jeep?"

"This is no joke, J.T." said the other, "cut the blather and let's deal with this traitor." He caressed his rifle.

"And with whom do I have the pleasure of acquaintance?" Tom asked. "JT is it?"

"I be J.T. Ready, founder of the Minutemen and the U.S. Border Guard. I'm a marine, a patriot and a recovering Mormon. And today, I'm your worst nightmare, my son."

"If you feel I'm some sort of a threat," said Tom, "rest assured that I am neither an illegal immigrant nor am I with a militia; but a peaceful American citizen, owing no man and fearing no man."

"I suppose you feel you're entitled to the same rights as we are," replied the neo-Nazi, "But if I may make so bold as to ask, what business does this honest American have in helping a dirty horde of illegals into my country? And how does he honestly come by a Border Patrol vehicle? Things are changing here at the border. We have it locked, loaded and ready to stop every filthy migrant we encounter, and I'm the one in charge. I don't take orders from your pale pink president, and I have an army of zealous soldiers at my back."

"I've heard of your border militias," said Tom, not hiding his contempt, "and that many would call you domestic terrorists."

Ready stared at Tom, trying to figure what his game was. "Well," said he, at last, "you got balls, I'll give you that. And perhaps on another day I would have just handed you over to the federal police. But today you had the misfortune of being netted by 'Operation Sovereignty,' and we're going to have to dispatch you ourselves. Right, Jep?" And he turned again to look at the bearded redneck.

But just as he turned there came the sound of an impact on J.T. Ready's chest, knocking him to the ground, followed by the report of a rifle.

"I'm hit! O sweet Jesus, they shot me!" he cried, several times over.

Tom ducked for cover, as the hunter dragged Ready behind some brush cover, while he scanned the horizon for the shooter. The woman came running over and clasped his hands. Now the wounded man looked from one to another with scared eyes, and there was a change in his voice, that cut to ones heart, whatever side you were on.

"Oh, I'm bleeding like a freaking pig!" He tried to open his clothes as if to look for the wound but his fingers slipped on the fabric. He looked back at his companions in desperation. "Oh, I am dead! Look to yourselves, dammit! I'm done for!" With that he heaved a great and painful sigh, his head rolled on his shoulder, and he passed away.

The man who looked the hunter never said a word, but his face was hard and as white as the dead man's; the woman broke into a loud wailing as tears streamed down her face; and Tom, for his part, stood staring at the lot of them, in tense anticipation of when they would turn their hostility on him. The chubby neo-Nazi was hiding by the truck and firing random shots into the hills, hoping to hit the elusive sniper.

At last the hunter laid down the dead man in his blood upon the road, and got to his feet with a kind of stagger.

Tom, who had been genuinely shocked at this turn of events, finally regained his senses and realized that the time to escape was now or never. Jumping back into his jeep, he ducked his head as he pulled the shift into reverse and hit the accelerator. Shots smashed through the windshield as the hunter keenly tried to fulfil his original wish of killing him.

Tom backed up in a wildly jaunty line until he eventually attempted to turn the vehicle around. As he momentarily exposed the broad side of the jeep to his attackers, one bullet came shearing through the door and nicked Tom's leg. Cursing, Tom grabbed a jacket and used it as padding against the flow of oozing blood. Managing to put the jeep in gear, Tom hit the gas again, putting substantially more distance between himself and the Minutemen Defense Corps.

As Tom drove around a rocky bluff, looking for another dirt road that would take him in the desired direction, he almost drove into the big pickup that Elias was driving. Elias hit the brakes, allowing the injured Tom to hobble into the back, thereupon Elias earnestly drove for their lives.

After they had driven a while, and felt like they had put some distance between themselves and their enemies, Elias stopped the truck and allowed Tom to climb up inside the cab. "I ran into a pretty tight spot back there."

"So did we," said Elias, mighty gravely. "We got out by the skin of our teeth and a buttload of luck. How's your leg?"

Tom grimaced in pain. "It's awfully stiff, but I think the bleeding's stopped. We might have more company soon, as an American hillbilly lies in his blood on the road."

"And it wasn't you that shot him?" asked Elias.

"I thought it was you!" said a prickly Tom. "Now we're going to have all the cops up our ass, and somehow we have to get all the way up to New York undetected."

"I know, it's a conundrum, but not the toughest one we've faced by far." Elias did his best to placate Tom's frayed nerves.

"But just blasting your way through situations is not very smart now, is it? What was the body count on your altercation? You managed to steal a pretty nice truck, so I'm guessing you shot up some influential people. Now, we may as well just send the kids out there to die in the desert and we can go surrender ourselves to the local Sheriff, because we're all as good as dead!" Tom continued clutching his wounded leg.

Elias was silent for a little while, then he said, "Did you ever hear the tale of the Man and the Elves?"

"No, nor do I feel in the mood to hear it now."

"I'm going to tell you anyway. Trust me, you'll feel better afterwards. The man, as the story goes, was cast upon a rock in the sea, where it appears that the Elves were in the custom to come and rest as they went the British Isles on their way to Ireland. The name of this rock is called the Skerryvore, and it lies just off the coast of Scotland. Well, according to the tale, the man cried so sore, if he could just see his little child before he died, that at long last the Elven king took pity on him and sent the wee child with a great Eagle who laid it down beside the man in a bag where the man lay asleep. So when he woke up, there was this strange bag beside him and something inside of it was moving. Well, it seems that he was one of these nervous types who always has to think the worst of things; and for greater security, he stuck his dirk throughout the bag before he opened it, only to find his poor child dead."

"Well that's a grim little story. If you were trying to cheer me up, you'd have done better to give me your flask."

"You just got me thinking, is all, that you and the man are very much alike."

"Thank you. I'll know to count on you when I feel like absolute garbage that you'll be able to make me feel even worse. Do you mean to say that you didn't shoot that guy back there?"

"I'll tell you first of all, because I can see you're awfully worked up, as one friend to another, that if I was going to kill someone, I'm not going to do it in my own country when I'm trying to repatriate myself. And second, do you see any high-powered rifles in here?"

"Alright," Tom said, "You got some logic there. It just surprises me that there's someone else out there who just happened to want to kill that neo-Nazi."

"Doesn't surprise me," Elias said matter-of-factly.

"Well, I guess it was more the timing of the matter that surprised me. And it got me out of a tight spot, let me tell you."

They drove for miles, and as the sun began it's downward descent, with the promise of another glorious desert sunset, they perceived the sound of a helicopter overhead.

"Aw nuts!" Tom bellowed. "It's the Border Patrol, without a doubt. They'll be on us before we get to the next town."

Darkness began to enshroud them, and just when the two of them were fighting sleep, a loud thump on the roof of the truck violently shook them from any lethargy that they had been feeling.

"What the hell was that?!" shouted Elias.

A throaty screeching noise soon answered their question, followed by screams that came from the back. " _Una moskitón_!" was one of the only things that Tom could comprehend, but that was plenty.

"It's Eddie Brock!" he shouted.

"Who?" demanded Elias, trying to keep the truck under control.

"He's a spider chimera!" Elias didn't wait for Tom to explain further. He drew his Magnum pistol and began firing through the ceiling of the truck. Unnatural screams came from the darkness outside as Elias slammed on the brakes, sending their occupants in the back of the truck tumbling forward and Brock went flying off the front.

Tom opened the door. "Get out of here, now! And don't look back!"

As the door slammed shut, Elias fought against every fibre of his being in his desire to defend his friend. But as he looked back at their other charges that they had acquired, he opted to put a safe distance between them, and then planned on doubling back by himself to see if he could help Tom.

Tom rushed at the spider chimera with all his might, forgetting about his wounded leg. He came in swinging, but Eddie Brock was ready for him. Tom punched, kicked and jumped, all with terrifying speed and power, but every blow and stance was countered by the stronger, technologically and genetically more advanced chimera, and Tom knew that he was losing.

"You're incredibly sick, Brock," Tom tried to reason with the remaining humanity he had left. "Your condition has advanced and you desperately need medical attention."

"Sick? Me?" Brock snarled. "I am superior to you in every way. There is no man on earth who enjoys the same potency that I deliver. And look at you. You would look down on me if you dared, but you cannot pretend to be my equal in strength and stamina. In the end, you lose!"

Tom could jump higher than Brock, but basically he had nowhere to run. So as he stayed to fight, Brock slowly gained the mastery over Tom, which culminated in a painful bite on Tom's shoulder, with venom coursing through his body.

Tom screamed in pain and rolled on the ground, and Brock paused to relish his victory before he delivered the coup de grâce. Suddenly, a spotlight shone full in Brock's face, blinding and stupefying him, triggering a reflex that forced him to scurry back to the shadows. A big truck rolled up to Tom, and a Russian accent commanded, "Get in!"


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Tom struggled to stay conscious, but the pain going through his left side was excruciating. It felt like he had a needle jabbed into his shoulder, and his tongue had gone numb, making it difficult to speak.

He looked around in the vehicle, to see a big soldier driving, and Markus Vitaly looking at him with grave concern. " _Bog_ , I hate that thing!" he grumbled, referring to Brock. His concern for Tom's suffering was written in stress lines on his face. "What can I do?"

Tom rolled around on the seat. "If you have a first aid kit, maybe you could give me some antihistamine. That might help."

Vitaly administered some meds he found in their kit and waited for them to take effect. Once Tom's breathing had become more regular, he asked, "Mischa, why are you helping me?"

He took a few minutes to respond. "I deed not agree with Harold on thees one. That we had to stop you from performing your surgery. Everyone knows that you want to do it to save your woman. And I don't think that that is bad."

"I have to say I'm surprised. But won't this get you in trouble?"

"He is my friend, and also my benefactor, or boss, for no better word. But he does not control my heart." Vitaly looked down at his hands. "He did force me to leave a woman I loved, because he said that it was not politically advantageous. He found out that I kept seeing her behind his back, and he was furious. He forgave me, and I retained my position in his inner circle, but in many ways, I never forgave him. Now, after today, maybe we can be even."

"This is great and all, Mischa. I really appreciate it. But it will be for nothing if I can't get back with Dr. Elias Wirtham. He's the only one who can perform the surgery. How do I find him?"

"No problemo," replied Vitaly, in a vain attempt at American slang, "The same way we find you. We ask U.S. Border patrol chopper to tell us location."

Soon they were hot on the heels of Elias and the rest of them in the pickup. Tom was able to communicate with him via megaphone, and soon they were all in Mischa's truck.

"Where are we going?" Elias asked.

"Airport. You will use private jet to go to New York," Mischa answered.

"Won't we need passports to fly? I thought even on private flights the Federal Aviation Authority checks the flight manifests and runs identification.

"Here are your ID's," said Mischa, handing them a stack of passports. "On private flights, especially for customers such as Oscorp, they tend to not look too carefully."

"Thank you so much, Mischa," Tom said, genuinely moved, as they were dropped off at the plane. "I really mean it. I won't forget your kindness."

The flight was uneventful, and before they knew it they were in New York, racing through the busy streets in Tom's car to prepare everything for Mariah's surgery. Elias drove, while Tom started researching on his phone where they might be able to 'borrow' an OR to perform a top secret and illegal surgery, Elias filled Tom in about the gaps in his plan. "What were you thinking? That the two of us were just going to perform the whole thing ourselves?"

"Alright. I admit that there were a few particulars that I didn't consider. Pardon me."

"Look, you need the Cardiac surgeon, the First Assistant…"

"Right that's you and me," Tom interrupted.

"I'm not sure if you're quite up to it, my young scholar, but that's not the end of it. You were hoping that it would be possible to perform a minimally invasive surgery."

"Yes, that's-"

"Well than we'll need an Interventional cardiologist to feed the catheter through the artery to the defective valve. And we can't perform the surgery without an Anaesthesiologist. We'll probably have to stop the patient's heart's momentarily, so we'll need a perfusionist to operate the heart/lung machine (we'll need access to a heart/lung machine) and not to put to fine a point on it, but we'll need a team of OR nurses who are very familiar with heart valve operations."

Tom tired face was starting to sag. "Fine," he snapped. "I'll try to call in some favours and ask for all of those things."

"Then while you're at it, you may as well ask for a pet unicorn that farts out lollipops, because I cannae see how you're going to get all that."

"Look, I'll ask for it, and we'll figure out the deficiencies later. First we have to go check on the patient and start getting her prepped for surgery."

They pulled up to Mariah's house, and Tom actually felt really nervous to knock on the door.

They waited, and no one answered. Tom and Elias exchanged concerned looks, while Tom focused on pushing the worst possibilities out of his mind. He distracted himself searching for the extra key. Finding it under a planter, he opened the door.

"What are you doing?" asked Elias.

"I didn't come all this way to not try to see this through to the end," Tom sputtered. Whatever end that might be.

He cautiously made his way through the house, looking from room to room, his own breathing sounded deafening in his ears. Finally he made his way to the bedroom, and hesitatingly pushed open the door. His heart was pounding, but he had to know.

There was Mariah, lying in bed; substantially more pale and thin than the last time he had seen her. Just as he was about to suspect the worse, she moaned a little and rolled over, the sound of her laboured breathing was welcome music to Tom's ears.

He gently sat on the bed next to her and ran his fingers across her forehead as he placed his hand against her cheek. She welcomed it and rested her face against his touch.

After a few moments her eyes weakly opened, and recognition brought a smile to her face.

"Tom," she said, pleasantly surprised, "Is it really you, or is this a dream? I thought that I would never see you again."

"You know that I would never leave you," he said softly. "How are you feeling?"

A slight crease went across her forehead as she closed her eyes. "Not good," she managed to get out. "But I'm glad you came. I'm glad you're here with me. I don't want to be alone, when… when…"

Tom blinked away his sense of regret and self-pity and tried to get down to business. "Mariah, we have to move you. We have to get you to the hospital. We're almost ready to perform your surgery."

"What surgery?"

Tom was starting to get anxious, and he felt like he was wasting time talking to her, when she obviously was not in her right mind. He tried to remain calm. "Remember, honey? We have an operation ready for you that will save you. Come on, we just have to get you to the hospital."

"No, no. I don't want to go."

Tom looked back at Elias who was standing in the doorway, as they contemplated this unexpected development. Tom beckoned Elias to come and help him get her up. "Really, Mariah, it will be okay." Tom did his best to sound soothing with his voice. "We just have to get this part over with, and you'll have your whole life ahead of you." He put his hand under her back and could feel that her nightgown was thoroughly damp with sweat.

"No, I told you, I'm not going."

Tom put his hand out to touch her forehead. "Mariah, I think you have a fever. You're confused. Listen…"

She shook her head and pushed his hand away from her.

"Listen. This is Tom. I love you, and I am going to help you."

"No, you listen Tom. I already said that I want to stay here at home. I don't want to die in some cold and sterile hospital room, in unfamiliar surroundings. This was my grandparents house, and this is where I want to go."

"But you don't have to go at all," Tom's exasperation was starting to come through in his voice.

Mariah rolled her head to look out the window and weakly raised her hand to point. "Look," she said in a faint voice, like she was hallucinating, "Look at how the shadows hold their breath, and how when the wind blows gently, the landscape kindly listens." Tom sadly looked out the window as well. "There's a certain slant of light, on these gloomy afternoons, that I find so oppressive. I feel like I'm listening to chamber music as I'm being softly pushed out the door." She turned and looked back at Tom with an earnest expression in her eyes. "Inside, the pain I feel is a heavenly hurt, one that leaves no scars. And as the light slowly fades, I can already see into the distance, upon the look of death."

Tom was momentarily at a loss as to what to say, but then he vigorously shook his head. "No. Listen, Mariah, dear. You're not well and you're not up to making a decision. You have to listen to me."

"You're wrong. I am thinking clearly, and I've decided this long ago, that I was ready to die in peace. I didn't know exactly how the sun would set, but I saw the shepherd on the other side, dressed in grey as he welcomes his children. He's gently putting up the evening bars, as he prepares to lead away his flock."

Tom's eyes hardened into a look of grim determination. "Listen, honey. You can't give up. Not yet. You don't understand…"

"No, you don't understand. My brittle substance is prepared for the ethereal blow. I'm…"

Tom lost his patience. He slapped his hands against his forehead. "Look," he yelled, "you don't realize what I've been through to get this far. We are not going to give up on you now. Not yet!" His violent outburst shook her out of her dreamy deliberation. She looked up at him in shock. "Now come on!" he continued yelling, grabbing her roughly by the arm. "Let's get your stuff and go. We're wasting valuable time here talking like this. If you can get out of this bed, and get this over with, then you'll have plenty of years to write your poetry. But God help me, those will not be the last verses you ever speak! Now come on! Come on, come on, come on."

She gave a frightened look to Tom, but slowly complied as he pushed herself out of bed and went to the bathroom to get dressed.

Elias tapped his watch. Tom nodded, "I know. We are running out of time. What do you make of her condition?"

Elias shrugged. "I'll need to examine her more closely, but if we're going to do this, we'll have to proceed regardless. Poor girl's already living on borrowed time as it is." He looked at Tom closely. "That being said, you might want to work on your bedside manner. Freaking the crap out of a patient with an advanced heart condition will not contribute to a positive outcome."

Tom threw up his hands. "You saw her! She was being impossible and is not thinking clearly. I didn't pass through fire and death to bandy crooked words with someone who's lost all sense. She'll thank me later, if we can reach our objective before it's too late."

"Yeah, but I'm just saying we have to be careful."

Tom was staring at Elias numbly as he talked when they were interrupted by a crashing thud from the bathroom. They threw the door open to find Mariah passed out in a heap on the floor.

"See I told you!" yelled Elias. "You stressed out the patient and strained her already severely weakened…"

"I know!" Tom yelled back. "Just forget it and let's get her to the ER!"

Tom and Elias rushed Mariah through emergency at the St. John's Episcopal hospital in Queen's. Having informed the reception of her heart problems, she was advanced to the front of the line.

She had soon regained consciousness after passing out, but was still very groggy as the doctor and nurses examined her. She offered confusing answers to their questions as they tried to document a history, which they chalked up to the fact that she wasn't very lucid.

Elias and Tom tried to stay with her, but once they had established that she hadn't had a heart attack and she was resting comfortably in a gurney, they were ushered out into a waiting room while the nurses administered fluids intravenously for dehydration.

Elias sat there staring into space, looking completely worn out. Tom drummed his fingers on his chair agitatedly. "You look completely spent," he said to Elias. "Why don't you get some rest for an hour, while I take a bit of a look around."

Elias looked up as Tom got to his feet. "You're going to snoop around? What the hell could…? Oh, why do I even ask anymore? Go. Go. I'm too tired to care right now."

Tom walked casually through the hallway of the hospital, 'accidentally' bumping into an orderly so that he could borrow his ID badge. He had brought Mariah's laptop with him and, putting it under his arm, he walked past offices, scanning their occupants until he found what he was looking for.

He knocked at the door of a doctor who looked like he was in his mid to late fifties, had a salt and pepper beard and was currently frowning through his bifocals at his computer screen.

"Somebody call for IT?" Tom asked.

The distracted doctor looked up, bewildered. "I don't…" he paused, trying to recollect his thoughts. "I don't remember calling, but thank God you're here. This damn application keeps freezing up! This morning I lost almost twenty-five pages of reports! How did you know?"

"Oh we have alerts installed and receive a page when there are problems in the system," Tom lied, "Anyway let's have a look at what we're dealing with here."

Tom pulled up a chair and started delving into the doctor's computer. A warning flashed up that read 'Critical error!'

"Uh-oh. This is going to take me a bit longer than I thought," Tom said. "Look. You seem like you're feeling frustrated, over worked. You must have a thousand other, more productive things that you could be doing. Why don't you leave this to me? I should be able to sort this out so it won't cause you any more problems in like, let's say, thirty minutes."

The doctor stood up and stretched his back. "You're right, this is a waste of my time." He looked at Tom and grabbed his jacket. "I'm going to go outside and have a smoke."

Tom gave a half smile. "There you go. You go on and enjoy your, uh, smoking. You earned it." He shook his head to himself as the doctor closed the door behind him.

Tom got busy accessing the Hospital Information System, and frantically worked on hacking into the University of Pittsburgh School of Medicine's database and the affiliated Medical Center. He was able to readily observe that they had many qualified doctor's available that would able to assist in Mariah's treatment. He checked their ratings as a hospital in Aortic valve replacement. UPMC was a top rated hospital, and was rated average when it came to heart surgeries. Well, Mariah didn't have time to shop around for hospitals now. The other factor was that she had Dr. Elias Wirtham, who knew the advanced subtleties of working with transgenetic treatments. Now, how to set up the surgery through official channels without raising suspicions? First, he worked on drawing up credentials for Elias and entered him into their database, so that he could officially perform the surgery, even if it would under a different name.

He gave him the alias Dr. Elijah Balfour, from Brigham and Women's Hospital, in Boston. He added many accolades to his CV, and listed him with a recommendation from Mariah's personal physician. He was just putting the finishing touches on Elias's cover when the man himself, opened the door, crouching, quietly slid into the office.

"Shhh!" he hissed. "We have company!"


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Tom and Elias furtively tiptoed through the halls, trying not to draw attention to themselves. Finally Tom saw what at set Elias's alarm bells off ringing. Two big men with crew cuts, wearing padded green coats, unabashedly looking around.

"Aren't those Osborne's goons?" Elias whispered.

"They're GRU soldiers," Tom confirmed, clenching his teeth.

They were looking for someone.

They were looking for them, in Osborne's frenetic efforts to exert complete control over any and all traces of the hybrid technology. In the back of Tom's mind, he knew that it was mostly business with Harold Osborne. This was technology that his company had developed, that could prove to be either highly controversial, or highly profitable. He wasn't leaving anything to chance that this volatile mixture could leak out into someone else's hands.

But now, Osborne had sent out violent killers, looking for Mariah.

That crossed a line, and made it personal.

Elias looked at the stony expression Tom was wearing, as the blood rushed to his face. Elias could almost hear the silicon chip inside his friend's head getting switched to overload.

Without a word, he shoved a stack of papers that he had printed of Elias's fabricated credentials into his hands, and boldly walked up to the two big men. As soon as they saw him, he turned on his heel and started to briskly walk toward the exit. One of them started talking into a radio receiver as they began their pursuit. As Tom approached the front doors to the hospital, a security guard came out, with his hand on his gun. Tom didn't skip a beat. He calmly walked past the guard, who apparently wasn't interested in him anyway. He stopped the two Russian goons, who appeared to be acting in a suspicious manner, and somebody had alerted security.

By the time they extricated themselves from their encounter with security and came running out, they ran into their two comrades who were waiting outside, who were carrying AK-74 assault rifles under their coats. After a heated exchange in Russian, they started circling around the hospital, trying to find where Tom had gotten off to.

Capitalizing on the unexpected and welcome delaying tactic from hospital security, Tom ducked out of sight once he was out the door and proceeded to begin scaling the side of the building. He grinned in satisfaction, as the iron strength in his fingers acted as two carabiners, rapidly propelling himself to the third floor. There, on a ledge in the shadow of a tree, he watched as the four security agents met, and then went off in pursuit.

Where was their boss? Tom scanned the car park, searching for any vehicle that stood out. His eyes zeroed in on a Hyundai Equus that appeared heavily armoured.

"Hello Harry," Tom said to himself. "How good of you to join the party personally."

Tom waited until the four men had separated themselves from any civilians and were in an open area, more or less in line where Harold's limo was parked.

He launched himself off of the ledge and as he came sailing down from the air to attack the unsuspecting security agents, one of them saw him approaching and tried to go for his gun; but it was too late.

Tom hit the ground right in their midst, kicking one in the side of the head as he went down into a roll, knocking down two more like bowling pins. Tom stopped himself in a mid crouch, one hand on the ground and balanced himself with his right leg stretched out straight to the side, as he stared down the remaining soldier on his feet. Tom's eyes looked crazed, as they stared out from his Luchador mask, and the remaining soldier had time to gulp before he went for his assault rifle hanging inside his coat. Tom was crouching about five meters away from the big Russian, but he leaped that distance quicker than you can say 'holy _halupkies,'_ tackling the man to the ground and disarming him. Tom punched him across the face, knocking him unconscious. By now, screaming people were running away from this strange little brawl, and some foolhardy opportunists were trying to capture the events on their cell phones from a safe distance away. Tom decided to give them something really spectacular to flee from.

He stared at the armoured limousine. The door was open, and Harold's unmistakable red hair was silhouetted against the sky, poking out from behind the door. As their eyes met, Harold retreated back into the safety of his car, while Tom released the safety on the assault rifle. Advancing on the car and hoisting the AK-74 into position of aiming at the limo, Tom unleashed round after round, as bullets bounced off the armoured plating.

"I wonder how much punishment this thing can take? Only one way to find out," he said, pausing for a moment as he walked closer to the vehicle. He directed more bullets at the tires, but they also refused to budge. The driver put the car into gear, and the wheels screeched into motion, but Tom stood between them and the exit. He pored more firepower into the grill, finally succeeding in blowing through the radiator and grinding the engine to a halt. He continued to fire into the windshield as the driver ducked while the bulletproof glass slowly started to crack.

Finally the driver threw open the door and fled for his life, while Tom held up this rifle. He had no quarrel with him. He looked over at the Ak-74. It was also equipped with a GP-25 Bonfire grenade launcher. "Why didn't I use that from the beginning?" he grinned to himself.

Tom launched a grenade that rolled under the car and when it exploded, lifted the limo in a spectacular fireball. To Tom's disappointment, it only succeeded in raising the limo about three meters off of the ground. As he was wondering how he could procure another grenade, the car's roof blew off and Harold himself came flying out in an ejection seat.

He landed on the ground wearing his father's green body armour, where Tom was waiting for him. He tackled him down and delivered continuous punches to the face like a man possessed. He finally succeeded in ripping off his helmet and lifting him up, slammed him up against a tree.

"I'm going to kill you, Harold," Tom snarled, in a voice that was strangely calm.

Harold tried to chuckle and project an unruffled demeanour, like he still had complete control of the situation. But his eyes betrayed a wild terror that was sapping his strength and composure.

"Whoa, Tom. That's pretty dark for you. Are you feeling okay?"

"It's not me that you should be worried about."

Two of Harold's goons finally plucked up the courage to try and take out Tom from behind. Grabbing Harold by the collar of his body armour, he swung him around so the soldier that was standing to the right got both of Harold's boots to the face. Throwing Harold to the ground, he delivered a rough outline of Shaolin Forward stance into the other attacker, relying on his enhanced power to send the big man flying backwards through the air.

Turning back to face Harold, Tom's features twisted in hatred. This time Harold was even more prepared for a taunting retort. "Tom, my man. What happened to you? You've changed. There must be something seriously wrong with you and you need to seek medical attention."

"Don't pretend to be concerned with my well-being."

Harold's face got more intense as his mouth twisted into an ugly smile. "Wow, something positively terrible must have happened to you as you were passing through Mexico like a condemned fugitive." He cocked his head to the side. "What was it? Can you still feel the pain? Do the flashbacks keep you up at night?"

Tom let out a roar as he picked Harold up and sent him hurtling across the lawn of the hospital, where he crashed into the bike rack. He was still trying to squeeze out a laugh as Tom pounced on him, seeing that his psychological torment was having the desired effect.

"Can't you see that you've lost? Just give up and I'll see to it that you receive the help you need to make the pain go away."

Tom picked Harold up again by the collar and shoved him up against the building. "It's your own pain you'll be trying forget when I'm through with you. And I'm talking about hurting you in the only way that you care about. You need to back off, Harold, or I'll put Oscorp through such a financial heart attack that economists will be analyzing your company's implosion for decades."

Harold scoffed. "How could you possibly hurt me financially?"

"I'm still the vice president of the laboratories, aren't I? You don't think I couldn't cause you some serious problems? And what about me, as a hybrid? What kind of mess would you find yourself in, if the press suddenly got wind that some kid from Brooklyn developed superpowers from Oscorp's experiments with animal/human hybrids?"

Harold slammed his mouth shut.

Tom kept talking. "So just listen and listen good. I don't want to hurt Oscorp. I'll even continue to carry out my duties and my studies there for the remainder of my internship. But I'm going to need you to leave me alone and not interfere with my patients, you understand me?"

Tom put Harold down as the two men glared at one another. "We're going to have to re-examine your position in the company," Harold said finally.

"I don't really care about that. Just leave me alone. Give me at least a month to finish this project and then maybe we can leave all of this to the past."

"That would be fine," Harold said slowly, with some resignation.

Suddenly Tom felt a chill go up his spine. He ducked as a muscular black figure came swinging past them.

He turned to Harold. "What did you do?"

Harold grimaced. "I may have called in the help of Connors' little pet project."

Tom roared in frustration and pulled two orange grenades off of Harold's belt, before levelling a devastating blow into him, sending the unfortunate executive flying ten meters into the air. He fell crashing to the ground, while clutching his cracked ribs. He remembered remarking upon the effectiveness of his body armour, absorbing an impact that otherwise would have disembowelled him, just before blacking out.

Tom whirled to face this new threat that had materialized, but he was not prepared for the bizarreness of Eddie Brock's appearance. He had swung down the building on a silk rope that seemed to be expelled from his butt, as Brock's transformation into a huge spider continued.

The savagery with which he then proceeded to attack Tom was also unexpected, and at the beginning, Tom was forced to assume a defensive stance as he attempted to ward off one vicious pounding after another. Tom tried to jump away, to put some distance between them, but Brock caught Tom's foot with some sort of sticky spider webbing, and pulled Tom back into the fight.

Tom finally was able to get some shots in by punching Brock in the face, but even that seemed to hurt Tom more than Brock, as his face looked like it was all fangs. Brock tried to wrap more of his secreted sticky webbing around Tom's legs, but he pulled out his dirk knife and slashed out wildly, first at Brock's hands and then cut himself free. Tom leaped and delivered a one two double kick into Brock's face and then jumping high and away, leaped from ledge to ledge until he was on the roof of the building.

Brock was comparatively slow when it came to pursuit, and he tried searching the building from the ground.

Tom smashed his way into an examination room where they kept the first aid training equipment. Working rapidly, he dressed a CPR dummy with his jacket and Nacho Libre mask and, after pulling open the door for the dumbwaiter in the hallway, he pulled out the cables and wrapped the dummy in a rope. Time to send some airmail Brock's way.

Holding onto the rope with one hand, he threw the dummy out the window with the other, causing the dummy to spin in the air. This human shaped projectile captured Brock's attention as it came tumbling towards him. Seeing the red masked figure, he leaped on it when it came close to the ground and buried his fangs into the plastic. His conscious mind knew that this wasn't really his prey, but he liked being able to terrify by his brutality.

As the rope that was wrapped around the plastic figure came loose, he realized that there was another small object that had been double tied against the dummy and was now released. He picked up the small hand sized globe with a flashing orange light, and he struggled to retrieve from his human memory what exactly he was holding. As the orange light on the item began to flash at a considerably faster rate, awareness finally kicked in for Eddie Brock's consciousness, giving him just enough time to emit a sad little whimper as the grenade exploded, transforming him into a gooey red mist.

Tom came running down the hall to where an anxious Elias was waiting. "Come on!" he yelled. "We have to get her out of the city!"

"Where are we going?" Elias asked, after they had scooped Mariah into a wheelchair and were furiously manoeuvring her through the hospital.

"I'll tell you on the way! Now you drive, because I have to try and finish illegally putting together the surgery team for you, 'Dr. Balfour.'"


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

After driving for six hours, Tom, Elias and Mariah pulled up to the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center, where they rushed Mariah inside to start getting her prepped for surgery. Elias, brandishing his shiny new ID's that Tom created for him as Dr. Elijah Balfour, went into the staff washroom and took a hot shower and shaved.

Elias looked long and hard at himself in the mirror, then splashed cold water on his face to try to wash away the fatigue and the wrinkles that he had acquired over the past few weeks. He was not feeling extremely confident. This was a complicated surgery he was about to undertake and had been literally fighting for his life over the course of the events in Mexico and in the South Pacific. He needed a good long vacation. Well, maybe after completing his deal with Tom, he could take one, now that he was back and anonymous in the United States.

Again he looked at the tired, aged man staring back at him from the mirror. "God, you look old," he said out loud. "Now if you can get through today without killing that young lady on the operating table, try no to kill yourself through sheer exhaustion." He looked down to see his hand trembling. He sighed, and took a couple of swallows from his flask, just to calm his nerves.

Almost there.

Tom had taken a side trip to some of his old hangouts at the University of Pittsburgh Engineering campus, to put the finishing touches on the paperwork to slot in Mariah's surgery. He sure hoped that Elias had his game face on, because his first meeting with the crack medical team that Tom had assembled began in just under an hour.

Dr. Dan Jacobson drummed his fingers against his chair. He was greatly curious to meet this highly esteemed Dr. Balfour from 'The Brigham' that up until now, he had strangely never heard of. He had been planning to blow off his shift today to do some sailing down at the Moraine Club. He had just bought a forty-six foot Oceanic pilothouse cruiser, and was anxious to get some sailing time in with her. He hadn't had the opportunity to take her out very far, and was scared to death of neglecting his new pocket cruiser. Rather, he wanted to get to know just how fast and well he could make her point. But alas, duty called and here he was at work. He didn't mind that much anyway. Surgery was easy money.

Jacobson leaned back in his chair to whisper a question into Dr. Sophia Acosta's ear, the anaesthesiologist. "So what have you heard about this guy?"

Sophia was occupied reading through a stack of folders, and could barely be bothered to acknowledge Jacobson's juvenile interest in the personal details of every colleague they worked with. This obviously was not her only patient that she was treating. Also, Jacobson was an olympic-class flirt.

"I haven't heard anything, Dr. Jacobson. I'm too busy to follow our hospital's gossip, let alone that of another state."

"It's just weird, is all," Jacobson continued, despite Acosta's clear display of disinterest. "I couldn't even find his Facebook page."

"I don't have a Facebook account," Acosta said, not looking up.

"Shut your face," Jacobson spouted. "I don't believe that for a second."

"It's true."

"How do you expect your patients that are alive and breathing in this century to have any trust and confidence in you as a doctor who is up to date with what's current in modern medical procedures if you don't even have a social networking account? Don't you want your grateful patients whose lives you've saved to be able to keep in touch with you?"

"I barely want my obnoxious colleagues to be able to keep in touch with me. Why would I want everyone I've ever met to be able to track me down?"

Jacobson sat back in his chair. "Well that doesn't say much for your bedside manner, Doctor," he said shaking his head.

"I like Instagram," Dave Lee, the perfusionist, suddenly spoke up. Jacobson blinked dully at this comment and it's narrator, but he promptly lost interest in dignifying him with a response. He turned his attention to Dr. David Portugal, the Interventional Cardiologist, who was also sitting in the row in front of him and slapped him on the shoulder, causing him to spill a bit of his coffee.

"And what are you doing here, Porch? The file says that this patient is barely thirty years old. We're not going to be performing a TAVR. We're going to be cutting her open like a Thanksgiving turkey."

Shaking her head, Dr. Acosta was in the midst of saying "God, you're an ass," when the highly regarded Dr. 'Elijah Balfour' walked into the room for the briefing.

After introducing himself under his pseudonym, Elias proceeded to explain to his team the condition of their patient and how they would proceed for the surgery, delicately yet firmly explaining some of the rather different tactics that they were planning.

Dr. Acosta raised her hand. "If we're going to be replacing both the patient's mitral and aortic valves with human replacements, why isn't the patient on a heavy dose of strong immunosuppressants?"

Elias cleared his throat. "The patient has signed off on an experimental procedure that involves specially produced valves that were custom created just for her, thus eliminating the need for immunosuppression drugs. Next?" Acosta frowned.

Next Dr. Jacobson spoke up. "This patient is relatively young, and if everything goes well she should be able to live a long and happy life. Why aren't we replacing them with mechanical valves if tissue valves wear out in ten to fifteen years?"

"If you turn to your information packet, page ten," Elias responded as the team turned to the appropriate page in their folders, "you'll find that for this particular patient we have, ready to transplant, stentless tissue valves that have been specifically bioengineered to endure the life of the patient. At least, that is what we are aiming for.

"You've all been specially selected to contribute your skills to this operation, that will be as groundbreaking as it is full of thrilling possibilities for the future of medicine. Are there any other questions?"

Dr. Portugal raised his hand. "Just one. Which medical facility did you say that it was that is providing an unbelievably advanced and sophisticated organ such as this?"

"I didn't. That will be all," Elias snapped, dismissing the team.

Tom was sitting with Mariah, as she waited to be wheeled into the OR. Tom was trying to be consoling, but she was obviously scared. As tears rolled down the sides of her face onto her pillow, she whispered, "I've decided that I don't want to die, Tom."

Tom smiled. "Courage, Mariah. Courage is what we need more than anything. I know you're not going to die. Not today. Sometimes even to live is an act of courage. And if we have the courage to open our eyes and to live another day, then we can count ourselves among those who squeeze the most satisfaction out of this mortal coil, and are truly happy."

Tom was seething with quiet rage that Elias had kicked him off of the surgical team. He stood in the scrub room and watched as one of the OR nurses sterilized herself before going into the operating theatre. "You shouldn't be in here, you," she gently scolded. Her name was Jessica Kasraie and Tom thought that she seemed rather pleasant and kind. "You seriously look like you could use some rest. Why don't you go and try and relax in the waiting room. Trust me that your friend is in very good hands. And if you take care of yourself you'll be able to give her the support she needs during recovery."

"I should be in there assisting. It's going to kill me to be outside and not know what's going on."

Another doctor who was scrubbing up for a surgery in one of the adjoining theatres overheard their conversation and as he walked past Tom he gave him a big, jovial smile. He was a big man, who spoke with a thick Tennessee accent. "Well you positively look like hayle, son. I believe you've already done all you cayan for your lady friend. Now it's time fer you to let go and t'let God."

Tom smiled and nodded. Nurse Jessica's words and this strange southern folk wisdom were finally getting through to him.

Upon stumbling out to the waiting room, he was utterly shocked to find Gwen sitting there. She immediately jumped to her feet upon seeing him and as they went to greet one another, Tom suddenly felt like he didn't know how to react, and the two ended up sharing a very awkward hug.

Once they had sat down again, Gwen asked Tom how Mariah was doing. Tom shrugged and lay back into the seat with his hand over his eyes.

"When was the last time that you got some sleep?" she asked with some concern.

Tom waved his hand dismissively. "I catch a nap here and there. It's true that I haven't been able to really get a good rest for maybe at least, going on a week now. And I guess that could be a bit worrisome, I'll admit. But the truth is, that I'm so tired, I can't sleep." He looked up at her.

"Well that makes about as much sense as a Bedouin with a boating license," she spouted. "Well hopefully this will be over soon and you can take some time off. You seem," Gwen paused, "different. Not just tired, but like there's something more serious bothering you. Are you okay? Do you want to talk about anything?"

Tom thought about it for a few moments. "Well I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't been through some pretty stressful experiences lately. But I'm sure I'll be back to normal once I have the chance to unwind."

"What's going on with Osborne, now that the Liberator's faction has been dealt with? Do you think he will support your research?"

"Osborne and I have had some very strong differences of opinion but as we've left it, we're prepared to respect each other's positions for now."

"How long do you think that will last?"

"Who knows? But one thing's for sure. Harold does not tolerate dissension in the ranks."

Gwen studied her hands and then looked at Tom intently. "What does that mean for Mariah?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if Osborne is trying to keep a lid on the tech we've created, and she's a living, breathing example of that, will he be threatened by her existence?"

"He'd better not," Tom growled, tightening his hands into fists. "I've already had to protect her from him once."

"But listen to me, Tom. And please, please don't misinterpret what I'm trying to tell you. I only have your best interests at heart. And Mariah's. You won't be able to always be there to protect her. It's impossible."

Tom looked at her. "What are you saying?"

Gwen heaved a huge sigh. "What I'm saying is that maybe it would be best for you, but especially for her, if you put some distance between the two of you. To protect her. To save her."

Tom's world was rocked from under him. He didn't know what to say. "I don't know if that makes any sense. I did all of this so that we could be together."

"No, Tom. You did all of this because you love her, don't you?"

"Yes, I risked everything because her love is better than life," he said, struggling to sort out his feelings.

"But?"

"But, I don't know. I'm not sure if I can make sense of this."

"It all comes down to one quotable phrase: If you love something, give it away."

Tom looked at her. "But why?" he pleaded. "Is this what love is?"

"When you love someone, you are willing to do whatever is best for them. Whatever the cost. You know who taught me that?"

Tom slowly shook his head. "Who?"

"You did. You showed me that genuine compassion is what drives us to help others."

Tom's eyes gazed in wonder. "I can't remember…" He stared blankly at Gwen. "I can't remember what compassion is. Is it a concept that I used to be able to understand? Now it seems like something so abstract, so ephemeral that I can't get a grasp on it."

Gwen swallowed slowly. "Do you think that Mariah has noticed a change in you?" Tom slowly nodded. "What did you see when you looked into her eyes?"

Tom hung his head. "I saw fear."

"So then what do you think you need to do?"

He threw his head back on the chair and stared at the ceiling. "I know. But this is not how things were supposed to go. I mean, I don't know if I'll ever to be able love again. I guess that's the price I must pay for all my sins. It's true, things have changed for me and I think I've lost my heart. It must be gone, never to be found."

Gwen put her hand on his shoulder. "No. Don't be so negative. You just need to get some rest that's all. And maybe some therapy."

The two of them sat quietly next to each other, contemplating where life had taken them.


	40. Epilogue

Epilogue

The laboratory on the twelfth floor of the Thomas Starzl Biomedical Science Tower in Pittsburgh was deserted save for one lonely figure suffering from insomnia.

Tom Jones was having difficulty concentrating and making sense of his data, yet consuming interest in his experiments caused sleep to flee from him.

He was also hiding from his nightmares.

The unwelcome chime of his phone ringing interrupted his thoughts. He decided to answer when he saw that it was Gwen. Why would she be calling at this ungodly hour?

"I'm sorry to call you like this, but we really need you to come back to Oscorp."

"That is out of the question. Harry made it very clear that I'm no longer welcome there."

"Well Osborne doesn't make all of the decisions. Not yet. It's the president of the company that has asked for you personally."

"Mark Iraklis? I thought he had moved on and forgot that I existed."

"On the contrary, he has really warmed up to you. Plus, you're the only person that can help him."

"Help him with what?"

"He's looking for a miracle."

"Well in that case, I have a couple of spare miracles stashed away in my backpack that he's welcome to have."

"I'm serious, Tom. Dr. Connors inspired you to believe that the miraculous was possible, and you have already been able to accomplish some pretty amazing things."

"Okay, out with it already. What does Iraklis want from me?"

"He wants you to help him to be able to see again."


End file.
